


Thank you, Professor

by hazel_lannister



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut, Top Steve Rogers, but everything is between consenting adults, these two are bad at communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_lannister/pseuds/hazel_lannister
Summary: Bucky Barnes can admit that he's sassy, annoying, and a little on the nose. But he's got a good heart. In walks Professor Rogers, a walking wet dream, and leaves no hope for Bucky to concentrate in the class. Oh well, it's not like it's his major or anything.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 321





	Thank you, Professor

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetad and even I didn't have the will to go through and edit, I probably will if/when I have time, but if anyone is a beta and is willing to help I will forever be in your debt!!!!

“It should be illegal to be awake this early, let alone make us have class,” Natasha grumbles without so much as a hello as she plops into the seat beside Bucky. Her eyes are hooded and squinted, face unmade and hair pulled back carelessly as she holds a travel mug in her hand. Most likely black coffee. 

Bucky hums in agreement, too exhausted to formulate a response. Why he thought that an 8 am lecture was a good idea when signing up for classes was truly beyond him. Bucky prefers doing his work into the late hours of the night and sleeping until the clock reads “pm”. But here he is, waiting for the professor to roll up so that he can hopefully doze during the class. 

They’ve chosen seats near the back so that if his eyes do decide to spontaneously elect to sleep, he won’t seem like too much of an asshole. He can afford to zone during this class anyway. It’s an introductory psychology course, which happens to be his major, and even though he took a few years off of school, he’s been studying in his free time, doing what research online he could before he could finally come back to the university. 

It means that he’s a few years older than most of his classmates since he’s mostly taking general education requirements with other freshmen and sophomores, and though he’s about two years older than the graduating class, he’s still technically his sophomore. 

Clint, one of his closest friends growing up, had already graduated this past year but he was living in an apartment near campus and was conveniently looking for a roommate when Bucky returned to school. Natasha has been Clint’s girlfriend for over a year now and she and Bucky had grown close incredibly quickly, each with their dark sense of humor and inability to let the other win the game of “who can make the people around us the most uncomfortable?” 

Natasha elbows him and he blinks awake, for the first time noticing that there’s now a man standing in front of the large lecture hall, dressed in a pale, blue button-down shirt and black trousers, both sculpted perfectly to his body which, even from this distance, Bucky can tell is very nice. The shirt stretches deliciously across the man’s chest, fabric shifting as the man talks animatedly with his hands and Bucky immediately finds himself entranced by the attractive man. 

He’s tall, this much Bucky can tell, with dark blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard which does nothing to hide a strong jaw. Bucky is too far to see his eyes but he’s sure that they are lovely too. He watches in a daze, still not hearing what the man is saying, Bucky assumes he’s the professor, and Bucky reaches over to steal some of Nat’s coffee. 

He takes a deep sip but immediately coughs, choking as he remembers that she only takes her’s black. Disgusting. He tries to quiet his coughing but he can’t even breathe, his lungs seizing and Natasha smacks him hard on the back, which does next to nothing. As the coughing calms, Bucky notices the professor has stopped talking, eyeing him meaningfully as half the class has turned in their seats to look at him. At least, the ones awake and not on their phones. 

Bucky takes a swig of his water and gives a sarcastic thumbs up to the professor as he waits idly for Bucky to finish, and if Bucky’s not mistaken there’s a hint of a smirk on that perfect face. But his eyesight isn’t the best and he is awfully far from sexy professor man, so there is also that. 

Natasha turns to him with a brow raised and he returns the coffee mug with a shrug and an eye roll. Monday mornings. What can he say?

…

The class goes by quickly with the usual tidal wave of information as to how the class is to be run along with a syllabus, the grading percentages, and absences. Bucky mostly tunes out, focused instead on the way Sexy Professor’s hands move when he gets excited, the way his whole face lights up in animation. He’s as captivating as he is attractive, and Bucky already likes him. 

The professor is also quite young for his profession, and though he looks to be several years older than Bucky, the man cannot have passed thirty all that long ago. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s the fact that Sexy Professor is easily the most attractive man he’s ever seen, or that he’s teaching Bucky’s favorite subject, or that he seems so incredibly passionate about what he does that makes him so likeable but Bucky imagines it’s a combination of all three. 

When the class ends, Natasha looks at him amused as they stand, and Bucky rolls his eyes as he swings his bag over his shoulder. 

“You’ve got some drool...right there,” she says, pointing to the corner of her own mouth as she appears to fight down a smile. 

“Oh ha ha,” Bucky says, drenched with as much sarcasm as he can muster. 

“He looks pretty young,” she wonders aloud idly it seems, both of them walking past the front of the room where a small group of people are waiting to introduce themselves or ask questions about the syllabus. Bucky glances at him, deeply immersed in a conversation with another student, and he notices idly that his eyes are a deep blue, piercing and intense, full of warmth and love for the world he lives in. 

Bucky hums noncommittally, not really listening to what she’s saying anymore as he’s too focused on the way the shirt brings out the blue in his eyes and stretches across a broad, muscular chest. He hears Natasha huff at his side, clearly aware of where his attention lies, when suddenly those baby blues are staring right him, over the shoulder of the student he’s speaking to, and Bucky feels his breath catch sharply. 

He isn’t prepared for the laser focus of those eyes, nor the dark long lashes that surround them and the way they crinkle in the corners when Sexy professor gives him a half smile, friendly and inviting, before looking back at the student once more. 

Bucky must be dawdling because Natasha is suddenly yanking on his arm, rolling her eyes as she leads him out of the lecture hall. 

“Are you done swooning yet?” she asks impatiently. 

“I was not swooning,” Bucky mumbles in exasperation but he sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. 

“Riiiight, I can see it now, you showing up to office hours in a schoolgirl outfit, asking if there’s  _ anyway _ for him to raise your grade?” She bends down, pushing her tits up and giving her best pout and Bucky shoves her off, unable to keep his laughter in. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says with an eye roll but he’s smiling so Natasha knows he’s not serious. 

“Okay, yes, but maybe you should go to office hours or something… you can’t deny he’s fucking hot, and he’s got a Ph.D in psych, you could get some advice.” 

Bucky purses his lips, not willing to respond because while she has a point, he’s not sure if he wants to let himself get attached to someone so unattainable. He’s had too much personal experience with how temporary people can be and the danger of getting attached to the wrong people, even though he never learns. But this time, he will. 

… 

Intro to Psychology easily becomes Bucky’s favorite class, despite the inhumanly early hour. He learns from the syllabus that Sexy Professor is actually named Professor Rogers, but in his head he’ll probably always be Sexy Professor. 

They jump right into lessons on the second day, and into reading, and even though most of the class seems less than thrilled that there’s going to be plenty of readings, Bucky finds that he enjoys them, and even more so when Professor Rogers goes into depth with them, and it is clear that he chose each reading carefully because he finds the information riveting. 

Bucky will never understand how Steve can be so animated and enthusiastic about the class when it’s not even a time where humans are supposed to be awake. (Not to mention, he’s fantastic on the eyes at all hours of the day, which makes it much easier to stay awake). 

It definitely makes the class more bearable, and something to look forward to more often than not, even though Bucky only has it three days a week. As much as he enjoys sleeping in the other two days, he almost wishes he could go more often. He ends up sitting much closer to the front than he did on the first day, and he tells Nat that it’s because he wants to force himself to pay attention but she clearly sees through his bullshit. 

So what if it makes it easier to see the lines of muscle hidden beneath the well tailored suit or button up shirt and the piercing blue eyes. Bucky is gay and certainly not blind. Sue him. 

Their third day of class, they are assigned a research paper on an area of their choice. Professor Rogers gives a list of several examples of topics from students in the past, ones that have plenty of options and several different widely publicized points of research to look into. He seems thrilled to be assigning the paper, not at all minding that 200 students are resisting the urge to groan aloud. 

And even though Bucky would not rank writing a 5000 word minimum research paper highly on his list of favorite activities, seeing his professor light up describing each topic and genuinely say that he is looking forward to discussing the papers as a class. 

“If you have any questions about the specific requirements of the assignment, they should be posted online this evening but of course you can email me or your TA’s, or ask after class. Great work today, I look forward to seeing you with at least four sources on Monday,” he says in his deep, warm voice that never fails to make Bucky’s knees feel weak. 

Natasha rolls her eyes as they stand, clearly not as willing to forgive Sexy Professor Rogers for the paper assigned as Bucky is. But then again, she isn’t quite as ready to drop her pants and bend over every time she sees him as Bucky is, and what she doesn’t see in him, Bucky will never understand. 

She’s said that he’s aesthetically pleasing and obviously an attractive man but he just doesn’t do it for her. Oh well. Her loss. 

“Five thousand words?” she bemoans to Bucky. “That’s like ten pages too many.” 

Bucky chuckles and fights off a smile. He looks around for his TA so he can ask a question about the paper but sees her quickly slipping out of the exit, too far for him to catch up to in the crowd. He could ask another TA but the other two seem busy with other students. Professor Rogers stands alone, packing his laptop into his shoulder bag and digging through a couple papers. 

He’s wearing glasses today, ones with square lenses and black frames that somehow make the blue of his eyes pop even more, and Bucky’s breath catches as those eyes land on him. He tells Nat that he needs to ask a question really quickly and she leans against a wall out of the way of the crowd and pulls out her phone. 

Professor Rogers gives him a polite but amicable smile as Bucky approaches, eyes crinkling in the corners, and having the intensity of those piercing eyes focused solely on Bucky is overwhelming. He fiddles with his backpack strap just to give his hands something to do and returns the smile. 

“Hi,” Bucky says politely and Steve nods, bidding him speak, the smile not dimming in warmth in the slightest. “So, I was, um, wondering--” fuck he’s even hotter up close, “--if since one of the options is the relationship between the psyche and somatic responses, would it be possible for me to do it on the way humans feel distinctly colder when faced with feelings of rejection or ostrazation?”

Sexy Professor blinks, eyebrows raised slightly and he looks almost impressed, and oh so pleased that Bucky actually seems to care about this paper. He can already tell he’s the type that is easily contented. “That sounds great, I imagine you already have a few studies in mind?” 

Bucky smiles, shyness forgotten as he talks about what he cares about, and even though having his insanely attractive professor’s entire, undivided attention is entirely unnerving but wonderful simultaneously, he somehow finds himself wanting to prolong the conversation, despite the fact that he only has about half an hour to grab lunch and get to his next class. 

“Yeah, I read a couple last year and I’d love to revisit them and see how the research has progressed since…” he trails off, hoping he doesn’t sound completely out of his league. 

“Excellent, I look forward to seeing what you have. If you ever want to discuss the research, or any others for that matter, come to my office hours. Or, if you prefer, we can set up a meeting.” The words are said sincerely, without a trace of pretense, as though he would actually be pleased that Bucky would come to talk about it. 

He feels his cheeks heat with the notion of possibly a private meeting and all that could entail if Sexy Professor weren’t so obviously such a stand up guy, but he clears his throat to rid himself of such thoughts. Good thing he’s a master of hiding these things with flirty sarcasm, his one true superpower. 

“Oh, I may take you up on that,  _ Professor _ ,” he murmurs, voice deepening coyly as he raises his eyebrows innocently, even though he puts an added emphasis on the word ‘professor’, as though it is something dirty and salacious. 

Professor Rogers just chuckles as though Bucky is an anomaly to behold, as though what he says is merely from a humorous standpoint without an ounce of truth (incorrect). However, his cheeks seem to be redder than a moment before, his eyes less polite and shining more with mirth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, James,” he says, effectively dismissing him but Bucky can’t even find it within himself to mind, because holy shit, Sexy Professor knows his name!!!!

And yes, it’s the name that only his parents call him when he’s in trouble, but it still counts for  _ something _ , right? He wonders if Professor Rogers knows all of his students’ names or if he’s just special, and chooses to believe the latter. 

…

Bucky decides to go to office hours Monday afternoon to discuss the different forms of research he’s found as well as possibly brainstorming his paper a bit so that he’s entirely clear on what Professor Rogers is looking for. Not to mention it’s as good an excuse as any to spend some one on one time with who is easily the most attractive man Bucky’s ever seen, aided by the warm smile full of kindness and blue eyes that shine with humor. 

They sit casually on a couch in the office, a respectable distance apart, but when Bucky starts to point to specific statistics in the papers he’s printed, his professor leans over, not even that close to Bucky but just a touch closer so that he can see what he’s referring to without craning his neck. Even still, Bucky swears he can feel him with every nerve in his body, feel the heat radiating off of him at his side. God, he would just have to lean slightly to the left to be enveloped in that big, muscular body. 

He’s willing to bet that Sexy Professor would be the best cuddle buddy. Among other things. Hopefully after he fucks Bucky sideways with what has to be a massive dick. What, he’s over six foot and the largest person Bucky’s seen in real life so there’s no way he isn’t hung as shit. 

They wrap up after several minutes, bouncing ideas off of each other and Bucky revels in finally being able to discuss the topic that he is so passionate about with someone who shares that enthusiasm. Professor Rogers seems to be feeding a broad smile, although Bucky doubts it’s for the same reason, rather more likely because he’s just such a nice guy that just wears a smile where he goes. 

“You really know your stuff, I’m impressed. A lot of this we won’t even be covering in the class… how did you come across it?” Professor Rogers asks as Bucky packs up the articles. 

“I, well, took a couple years for family reasons, but I didn’t want to fall behind so I… tried my best to keep with it. Wasn’t hard, this kind of stuff fascinates me.” 

Steve’s wide smile softens to something fonder, something that makes Bucky’s chest feel tight for a reason he cannot name. “What made you interested in psychology?” Sexy Professor asks curiously, not politely, and he seems genuinely interested in what Bucky has to say. With the rest of their conversation, he’s watched with uninhibited interest, absorbing Bucky’s every word in a way that is intimidating with its intensity but also makes him feel almost… special. 

“I’ve always really liked kids,” Bucky begins, clearing his throat because now those intense blue eyes are just focused on him without any articles to break the eye contact. “They fascinate me, and especially with younger kids, before they learn morality and how to curb their id, I like to watch the way their brains work when they want something they can’t have, or the way they play… I don’t know, I don’t think I’m making much sense…” Bucky trails off, fiddling with his fingers nervously, but as usual, Professor Rogers is just looking at him encouragingly, kind smile on his face that crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

“No, I think I know exactly what you mean,” he says, nodding to allow Bucky to continue. 

“I don’t know, I just feel like young kids are pretty much representative of the most visceral form of human emotion, uninhibited by a lot of the pressures of society and things. I feel like if you understand kids, then you can understand people when you take those reactions and apply them to a broader scale. 

“Like, obviously an adult probably won’t throw a tantrum if you take a cookie, but if they want, I don’t know, a promotion and then don’t get it, there’s still that innate rage and frustration that they didn’t get what they want, they’re just better at hiding it more often than not by then.” Bucky trails off, realizing he’s gone on a speech of sorts and his professor probably has way more important things and other students to attend to than listening to Bucky drone on about kids. “Sorry,” he finishes meekly, staring down at his bag as he finishes up with the zipper. 

“Don’t be,” he replies with a warm smile and gently nudges Bucky’s hands where he’s picking at his nails, a bad habit he knows, but the gesture is so small and almost intimate Bucky doesn’t know what to make of it. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but I like the way you think. You have a unique mind, and it’s always nice to see students your age that enjoy kids.” 

Bucky doesn’t like the “students your age” comment, like they’re super far apart in terms of age when Bucky would guess it wouldn’t be much over five years. Which was hardly anything in terms of how long people live. But it doesn’t matter anyway, Bucky reminds himself, because 1) Sexy Professor would never look at him that way, 2) Sexy Professor sees him as a kid, and 3) Sexy Professor would never look at him that way! 

“And at your age?” Bucky asks, innocent look almost ruined by the teasing smile that threatens to peak out. “Do you have any kids,  _ Professor _ ?” He looks up at Steve, enjoying their height difference, that even sitting down, is pronounced at this small distance apart. 

Professor Rogers chuckles again, eyes darkening slightly, not even noticeably. “No, not for me, but I have a nephew that I visit often.” Something in his eyes soften at the mention of the kid and it warms something within Bucky. 

Bucky smiles, trying to imagine his big, broad, muscular professor playing with a young boy, joking, running… somehow the image is far more attractive than even his shirt stretched across those shoulders. “What’s his name?” Bucky asks softly, suddenly wanting to know who this man is outside of the lecture hall, at ease and comfortable. 

“Ethan,” he replies with a fond smile. “He just turned five.” 

“That’s the best age,” Bucky says. 

Professor Rogers nods with a grin, clearly within his own memories for a moment. The moment is fragile, and it almost feels like a conversation he would have when meeting someone new, a classmate, a mutual friend… certainly not a professor. 

“Well, I should…” Bucky gestures to the door, standing. The older man follows suit, giving him a wry smile. 

“Good work today, I’ve enjoyed our talk. I look forward to reading your piece,” he says genuinely and Bucky grins. 

“Let me know if you ever need a babysitter,” he says on his way out the door. 

“Will do. See you later, James.” 

…

Classes become more enjoyable but also more difficult to pay attention to, because now Sexy Professor  _ looks at him _ , eyes piercing through for less than a second but every time it sends a thrill through Bucky’s body. He has to fight off a smile every time, and his stomach flutters, even several minutes after Professor Rogers has looked away. 

He has taken to leaving out through the front exit at the end of class, taking his time with packing up his notes and textbook so that his professor isn’t busy with many other students, often times packing up his own materials when Bucky approaches the front. He rarely says much, will ask the occasional question, but more often than not, he leaves with a soft, “Bye, Professor,” looking up at the older man from beneath his lashes and reveling in the knowledge that he is the reason his cheeks will flush a soft pink. 

It makes his heart quickens every time, like in a bad romantic comedy, but something about those beautiful blue eyes, looking at him with a genial comradery, Bucky is almost tempted to say fondness before he corrects himself. 

Either way, the daily moment is soft and breezy and wonderful and Bucky looks forward to it because it’s that one moment where the older man’s attention is entirely on him and no one else. It’s the one moment where those blue eyes seem to look right through him, with his gorgeous smile and huge stature… It’s intoxicating. 

… 

Bucky watches nervously as his professor reads over his paper, a small line formed between his brows as those blue eyes run across the page. Bucky watches, captivated, as the emotions flit across the other’s face, fleeting and brief, but small expressions in response to Bucky’s writing all the same. 

They’re alone in Professor Rogers’ office again, the blonde seated at his desk while Bucky sits nervously in the seat across it. Finally, his professor sets the paper down and meets Bucky’s eyes, a flash of a moment that seems to take an eternity before a breathtaking grin breaks across Sexy Professor’s face. 

“Bucky,” he says, voice deep and rumbling and full of pride, and it sets something within Bucky aflame. “This is incredible.” 

Bucky lights up with the praise and the use of his nickname, somehow more intimate and wonderful. His professor stands slowly, not breaking eye contact as he makes his way around the desk, approaching Bucky. He nears him slowly, giving Bucky plenty of time to stand, to back away, but instead Bucky remains frozen, motionless, watching with bated breath. 

He doesn’t know when it got quite so warm in here or when his pants got tight, but Professor Rogers is looking at him with dark eyes, pupils dilated and hungry. He pulls Bucky to his feet carefully, taking his weight far too easily and it really shouldn’t turn Bucky on as much as it does. 

“Since you did so well, don’t you think that deserves a reward?” he asks coyly and Bucky swallows thickly. He doesn’t know whether to nod, to pull the other man to him, or to rip off his clothes. Perhaps all three. Bucky is lifted easily, his professor taking his weight and placing him gently on the desk, stepping between his spread legs before taking his lips in a deep kiss. 

It’s hot and wet and Bucky can feel the older man’s erection, long, hot and thick against his own, grinding down with a heavenly friction that is so good but nowhere near enough. Hands are everywhere, Bucky’s exploring the vast plains of muscles, squeezing at the taut firmness and reveling at the power within them. He’s never been so turned on in his life, and all he can hear at the deep groans and sounds his professor makes in pleasure, and all he can feel is that thick length pressing in all the right places, and if Bucky isn’t careful he’s going to come. 

He whines in the back of his throat, pleading wordlessly for more, and the other man obliges. “I’ll take care of you, Baby, don’t worry,” he murmurs in that deep voice, eyes almost black as they search Bucky’s. 

“Please,” Bucky whimpers, and he  _ needs _ this man inside him, pronto, and just as the older man is unzipping his fly, about to reveal that massive, throbbing erection, Bucky springs awake, sitting up straight, panting and sweating in his bed while his hard on twitches in his briefs. 

He lies there for a brief moment, unmoving, trying to will down his stubborn erection because isn’t it poor form to masturbate to thoughts of someone that would never see you that way? But after a few moments, Bucky is still so close and just needs a few quick jerks, so he finally obliges himself, sticking a hand into his underwear and roughly pumping himself until he’s spilling with a wordless cry into his hand. 

God, he is so fucked, and not in the good way. 

…

Bucky tries (and fails) not to relive that dream for the entire weekend. Everywhere he goes, he can hear the echo of those moans, the way his voice had rumbled as he said “I’ll take care of you, Baby.” Focusing on his homework, especially psychology, is nearly impossible because it is laced with the memories of that fucking dream. Fucking being the operative word of course. 

He also needs to go downtown because he’s planning on drinking tonight and needs to be prepared for a mega hangover, that is if he finishes proofreading his paper. But he needs advil because Clint used the last of his stock for their last drinking binge and the campus pharmacy is closed on weekends. Life is hard. 

So Bucky takes the bus downtown and heads to the nearest CVS, browsing the aisles until he finds the cheapest, off-brand ibuprofen that he can. He’s making his way to the register, looking wistfully at the obscenely sugary coffee drinks in the refrigerated area, when he runs into a solid wall of a person, all taut muscle and standing at about half a foot taller than Bucky, who is already 5’10”. 

The man turns to face Bucky and he has never wished more for the ground to swallow him up. Standing before him with an amused smile on that fucking perfect face is the object of his dreams himself, only this time dressed in jeans that hang low on slim hips and grip solid thighs as well as a tight fitting t-shirt that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

Bucky thinks about telling him that what he’s wearing should be classified as public indecency but he’s too flustered, imagining that there’s a sign behind him, blaring the words “I HAD A SEX DREAM ABOUT YOU”. Maybe with an asterisk that said at the bottom (and it resulted in the best orgasm of my college career). 

But instead Bucky stands, watching with a mouth agape as his professor looks at him as though waiting for a response. “What?” he asks dumbly. 

Professor Rogers chuckles again. “I asked how you were,” he repeats, looking at Bucky with what appears to be curiosity and mirth, his eyes light, a vast juxtaposition to the dream version of him, with the dark eyes and blown pupils that look at Bucky like he’s something to be desired. 

“Oh,” Bucky replies eloquently, shaking his head to try to disperse the image of his professor slowly unzipping his fly. “I’m, um, good. How are you?” 

If at all possible, Sexy Professor’s smile widens to a blinding capacity. “I’m doing well, thank you. I expect you’ve long since finished and perfected the paper?” 

Bucky stammers, trying to form the words because he wants so desperately to have this older man’s approval, but if he expects Bucky to already be completely finished… “I, um, almost--” 

“I’m just teasing, I have every faith you’ll get it done and it will be superb.” And he sounds so genuine as he says it, like he means every word and isn’t just saying it for politeness’ sake. Bucky feels his face heat at the compliment but is distracted by the older man extending an arm, bidding him lead the way to the cash registers. 

“You’re finished,” Professor Rogers asks, pausing, seeming to realize he had assumed. 

Bucky nods shyly, leading him to the single register line they have open. He yawns to himself and debates for a moment, knowing that he’s going to be up late tonight and he doesn’t have coffee in the apartment, so he decides to splurge a bit and run and grab one of those espresso drinks after all. “One sec,” he says to his professor, grinning. 

He runs over to the fridge and grabs one that has three shots of espresso per serving and two servings per can, and runs back over to where the older man is watching him, bemused smile on his face. 

Bucky stands awkwardly as the blonde pays for his items, some Claritan, (the on brand stuff no less), and a pack of gum. Sucks, Bucky had been hoping for something more interesting. He places his items on the track behind the other’s and waits quietly for his professor to finish paying. They share a soft smile that seems more intimate than just a student and his professor, but Bucky’s sure he’s just reading into things. 

“See you Monday, enjoy your weekend,” the blonde says with a crooked smile that makes Bucky momentarily forget how to speak the English language. He nods and tries to smile back and is too busy watching the way that t-shirt stretches around those  _ huge _ back muscles to notice that his professor has left an extra twenty behind to pay for Bucky’s items as well. 

God was pushing it when he made him inhumanly hot, but did he have to make him so nice too?

… 

Four days later, during which Bucky has two brief conversations with his obscenely attractive professor and nurses a truly horrendous hangover, Bucky emails the older man. It’s just for a question related to class, one that could probably be solved in a matter of minutes before or after the lecture, or even with one of his TA’s, but not-so-secretly, Bucky craves every moment he can get with the other man and why not use this as an excuse to spend time with him? He’s not hurting anybody but himself. 

_ From: James B. Barnes _

_ To: Steven G. Rogers _

_ Subject: Freud Paper _

_ Hello Professor,  _

_ Hope your week is going well so far… I was wondering if I could possibly schedule a meeting with you this week? I had a few questions about the Freud paper and can’t make it to office hours, so if it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle, I was hoping we could discuss? If not, I look forward to seeing you in class Friday.  _

_ James Barnes _

Bucky is surprised to receive a reply in less than half an hour later. 

_ From: Steven G. Rogers _

_ To: James B. Barnes _

_ Subject: Re: Freud Paper _

_ James, _

_ I would be happy to schedule a meeting and address any questions you may have, you know that I am always happy to discuss these things with my students. I am downtown tomorrow afternoon and we can meet at the coffee shop on Mission if you’d like. Send me the time that works best for you, or if tomorrow doesn’t work.  _

_ Steve _

Bucky rereads the email to himself no fewer than three times, knowing that he’s idiotic and just digging a hole for himself, but he can’t bring himself to care. He replies within a minute and after about half an hour, they’ve established when and where they are going to meet: a small coffee shop about fifteen minutes from campus at 3 pm. 

A perfectly respectable meeting time. Between  _ professor _ and  _ student _ . He’s being dumb and he knows it; he even calls Natasha for her to help convince him that it’s not even a big thing, something purely to solve a question and the friendliness of the emailed response is just the way his professor is, cheerful and enthusiastic. 

The next day, he fusses over his hair and changes his shirt twice while Natasha watches on mildly amused. “You need to chill,” she says, raising an eyebrow as Bucky turns in front of the mirror once again. “I’ve never seen you like this, even when you’re dating somebody. You barely even know him.” 

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, first off, he’s like the hottest guy ever to exist on this planet, let alone that I’ve seen with my own two eyes. Second, he’s so fucking smart and that’s pretty damn sexy, and  _ third _ ,” he pauses for emphasis, Natasha fixing him with a dry look, “I bet he has a massive cock.” 

Now it’s Nat’s turn to roll her eyes. “Now why would you bet on that?” 

“Because nobody is that hot and cursed with a tiny dick. It just doesn’t happen. And besides, I’m totally ‘chill’, I just want him to bend me over several times in a variety of ways.” 

“And marry him and have his babies,” Natasha says, not looking up from her nails. 

“Why do I talk to you?” Bucky asks, turning away from his reflection. 

“Because I’m the only one who tells you how it is,” she replies, looking up at him now, small smirk on her lips. 

Bucky can’t fight the smile now. “Yeah, yeah. So how do I look?”

“Perfectly fuckable. Now go get ‘em, tiger.” Bucky laughs as Natasha swats him on the ass and he shoves her off. Before long, he’s on a bus for the twenty-five minute ride downtown, bouncing in his seat, unable to keep still to the point that the old lady sitting next to him gives him a look. But even grumpy old ladies can’t keep him down. He’s too excited (nervous). 

He’s five minutes early when he walks into the coffee shop, after double checking that he has the right place twice of course. It’s a pleasant little place with warm lighting, large windows, and cushy chairs for comfortable seating. There are many students working on laptops, some larger groups collaborating quietly, and Bucky’s surprised he’s never heard of the place. 

It seems like a good place to do work, or have a somewhat casual meeting in his case; it’s almost impossible not to be uncomfortable in the space and Bucky is grateful his professor has such good taste.

Bucky looks around and is unsurprised to see the older man already seated in one of the armchairs by the window, the seat across from an empty one that Bucky assumes is for him. 

“James,” his professor says with his signature, broad grin, and it makes Bucky’s stomach tight to think that perhaps he is just that happy to see  _ him _ . Bucky returns the smile easily, without even thinking, because as nervous as he often is in front of the attractive man before him, it is hard to feel uneasy in his presence. 

The blonde stands as Bucky approaches. “I was about to get a coffee, can I get you anything?” 

“No, that’s okay, I can—“ Bucky cuts off as his professor raises a hand. 

“I insist, it couldn’t have been easy for you to get all the way down here.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and Bucky finds himself unable to argue. He can feel his mother’s disappointment in letting someone else pay for him when he is perfectly capable himself, but something about the way Professor Rogers is looking at him, almost hesitant and hopeful, makes Bucky neglect his qualms. 

“I—okay,” Bucky says. “Could I have a small latte? Please?” 

His professor seems overly pleased, much more than he should, at Bucky allowing him to get them their coffees, but he fixes Bucky with his blindingly gorgeous smile and heads over to the counter. Bucky takes the opportunity to sit in the other chair and start to take out his notes and things. 

Sexy Professor returns a few minutes later, holding two steaming cups as he places one in front of Bucky on the small table between them. “Thanks,” Bucky murmurs, taking a slow sip and sighing, closing his eyes. It’s been a while since he had coffee that wasn’t from the dining hall. 

When he opens his eyes, the older man is beaming, eyes so blue that Bucky has to look away. His professor is wearing casual clothing, which is somehow just as attractive as the button ups and ties. He makes it look effortless, whatever he’s wearing, and Bucky has to force his eyes back to his notes so that he doesn’t keep leering at his professor like some creep. 

He doesn’t have the cover of the large lecture hall anymore. Those blue eyes are fixed on Bucky and Bucky alone, all intense and piercing and too beautiful for Bucky to be the focus of. 

“So,” his professor begins, setting down his own coffee on the table, “you have some questions.” 

They fall into an easy conversation, one in which Bucky has the notes in his hand to avoid eye contact when it begins to feel too intense, and the older man easily clears up all of Bucky’s unease with the text. 

“It’s quite controversial, and some of it has been debunked, but a lot of Freud’s work is still used as a basis today. And besides, I wanted all of you to have the whole picture so you can see the flaws, and not just what he happened to get right.” 

Bucky nods, looking down at his paper. He shrugs suddenly, looking up once more to meet the blonde’s eyes. “Yeah, well he’s still a creep.” 

The older man barks a surprised laugh at the comment, looking at Bucky for a moment with a gently fondness that catches him off guard. “Yes, he definitely had his moments, but our field wouldn’t be what it is without him,” he says, taking another sip of the coffee. 

The way he says “our field” so casually makes Bucky almost miss it, the easy way that the other man knows this is what Bucky wants to do, that the information is every bit Bucky’s own as it is his, despite the fact that the other is a professor with a doctorate in the subject. 

His chest feels warm and Bucky blames it on the latte. 

When all of his questions have been satisfied, the both of them still have about half a cup left, (and of course Bucky isn’t ready to part, he’ll take every chance he gets to ogle the older man in criminally tight shirts, thank you very much). 

They talk for long minutes about how the older man became a professor, how he skipped a couple grades which is why he’s young for the profession. He doesn’t ask Bucky why he’s older than most in his grade, for which Bucky is grateful. The conversation, as usual, is easy and casual, and the older man watches with rapt attention as Bucky responds to every question as though he is attempting to absorb it all. 

Bucky is fascinated, in turn, by the blonde’s slight movements, the way his moves his hands when he talks, the way his face changes as he becomes animated in a story… it’s as entrancing as ever, but this time it’s right in front of Bucky, just across a table, almost within reach. It’s intoxicating. 

The light outside begins to dim when his professor checks his watch, (of course he wears a watch, what a grandpa), and his eyebrows widen in surprise. 

“It’s been nearly three hours,” he says, looking up at Bucky apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this long… you have much better things to do than wait around while your professor rambles on, I’m so sorry.”

He begins to pack up his things. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have anything else to do today, your time is much more valuable than mine,” Bucky attempts to joke, but his throat is tight with guilt and perhaps disappointment that his professor regrets their time together. 

“Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to keep you for another few hours, but you really should be getting back.” The tightness in his chest eases and he packs up his own stuff as well, his professor waiting for him to finish up. 

They both stand, and Bucky feels a little awkward, not quite sure how to leave things. When they walk to the exit, the older man holds the door open for Bucky, who in turn flushes and ducks down, rubbing his neck as he exits the cafe. 

The sun has dipped below the horizon and the world is quickly getting darker. They’re not in a bad part of town but being just about anywhere alone in the city when it’s dark is less than ideal. Still, Bucky is surprised with Professor Rogers asks, “Can I walk you to the station?”

It’s less than a block away, something Bucky could easily make on his own and would never even think about someone walking it with him, but it’s just the type of politeness that Bucky should be getting used to as he’s born witness to it so often. 

Bucky nods shyly, realizing he still hasn’t responded, and the older man fixes him with his signature grin, and Bucky is immediately glad that he accepted the offer. They continue their easy conversation on the way to the bus stop, walking closer than is strictly necessary, and Bucky enjoys the way their shoulders bump when they make room for someone else on the sidewalk. 

He revels in the shared body heat and easy conversation, and he’s almost able to forget that he’s with his professor, just a someone he happens to know that happens to be the hottest guy freaking ever. No big deal. 

They’re unfortunately almost there, despite Bucky’s slow pace, when he trips over something sticking out of a sprinkler, something metal and sharp, and before he knows it, he’s almost on the ground. He’s held up by two iron hands, strong but surprisingly gentle, and Bucky was pretty damn close to an embarrassing face plant. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, straightening up and brushing himself off, and even though those strong, clever hands have released them, they still are up, waiting in case Bucky has need of them again. His shin hurts from where he hit it, but it isn’t a big deal, he’s certainly had worse. 

But the blonde is staring at his leg and Bucky looks down curiously and sees that his jeans have ripped a bit and a jagged cut is etched across the flesh there. It’s not deep enough to need stitches but enough to bleed plenty. 

“Jesus, are you okay?” Bucky looks at the blood dripping rapidly and bends to inspect the wound more closely. 

He shrugs, something about how concerned the professor sounds throwing him off. “I’ve had worse, CVS isn’t too far, I’ll just go grab some first aid stuff.” The older man looks unconvinced. “Look, Professor, I’m clumsy as hell. I’ll be fine, promise.” He just wants to get out of here, get away from that look of concern and away from embarrassing himself further. 

“No, can I just—my building is just over there,” he says pointing. “Let me bandage it. Please. Would bring me some peace of mind…” He looks so bashful all of a sudden, which is such a strange yet adorable look on such a large man. Still, Bucky hesitates. He doesn’t want to inconvenience his professor any more than he already has and he doesn’t want to be a burden. “That is, if you’re comfortable, I didn’t think about the fact that I’m practically a stranger inviting you to my apartment…” 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate with his reply this time, an unquestioning, “I trust you,” falling from his lips. He says the words easily, too easily, but it puts a smile on the other’s face so it’s worth it. 

The older man leads him carefully to his apartment, hands extended and ready in case Bucky needs them, but he’s not even limping. It’s just a cut, not that big of a deal. He doesn’t get much of a chance to look around, only able to notice that the apartment is homey and warm, with soft furnishings and comfortable furniture. 

His professor gently leads him to an armchair, soft and comfortable, and helps him sit with a warm hand on his shoulder. “One sec, let me grab the first aid stuff,” he says and is quickly out of the room, only to return promptly with bandaging, antiseptic wipes, and some other things. 

He kneels in front of Bucky, deftly rolling Bucky’s pant leg up with a clinical gaze. Bucky starts to reach for the wipes but the blonde hesitates, looking up at him with a questioning look but seems to be holding back for a moment, thinking over his words. “Let me?” he asks quietly, eyes dark in the muted light. 

Bucky thinks for a moment, a little thrown off by the offer. It’s been so many years since someone cared for him, but it’s a tempting offer, one that Bucky doesn’t have the strength to refuse, even though he knows he probably should. He wants this to happen, wants to let the older man take care of him for just this minute. It helps that the blonde looks so earnest, and Bucky nods. 

He extends his leg more so that it’s easier for the other to reach him and his professor inspects the wound. “You’ve really done a number on yourself, James,” he murmurs, gently and carefully cleaning the cut with the antiseptic wipes. 

“Bucky,” he corrects without thinking. “My friends— _ people _ call me Bucky.” 

The older man nods and gives a soft smile. The nickname is more familiar, perhaps more intimate, but it feels right. “Bucky,” the blonde repeats quietly, tasting the name, and Bucky feels warm. The hand on his leg suddenly feels ten times warmer and Bucky suppresses a shiver. 

He holds it in for the most part but it escapes even so, and of course Sexy Professor notices. “Are you cold?” he asks, voice steeped with concern. 

Bucky looks him dead in the eye and shakes his head, and Steve turns back to the cut, cheeks tinged with pink. The bleeding has finally stopped for the most part and his professor wraps the wound carefully. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever known someone as nice as you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, thinking out loud for the most part. 

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “My thoughts are not always noble—trust me.” His cheeks are pink again and Bucky decides he rather likes that color on the other man, and he wants to see it more often. 

“Why Professor,” Bucky begins, dropping his voice into a sultry, teasing tone, “care to share with the class?” 

Steve laughs again and God, Bucky fucking loves that sound. He gives Bucky’s knee a squeeze when he’s finished wrapping the leg, and it’s casual, comfortable, but somehow more intimate than Bucky would expect. “How does it feel? Too tight?” He looks up at Bucky with concern in those blue eyes, and it shouldn’t be there—not for Bucky. 

“Nope, just right.” Bucky tries and fails to sound nonchalant but his voice comes out quiet and breathless, and something in the air is heated and electric. “Thank you,” he whispers almost inaudibly. 

“Anytime, Buck.” Bucky doesn’t know when they got this close together, when he started leaning down as though magnetized toward Steve and his professor watches with captivated interest. 

But then the electric current is gone as Steve snaps back, and suddenly there is space between them again and the moment is gone. “Maybe I should get hurt more often if it means I get to spend more time with my sexy professor,” Bucky says playfully, and he knows it’s a risk but he wants to lighten the mood that was so tense just a moment ago, and Steve is so easy going that Bucky isn’t too worried he’ll take offense. 

He adds a signature smirk to help the teasing factor and Steve lets out a huff of surprised laughter. “I certainly hope not,” he says around a chuckle and Bucky can’t help it when his face falls. Steve’s laughter immediately dies and he watches Bucky for a brief moment before his face morphs with understanding. “I mean I hope you don’t get hurt…I, uh, enjoy our time together.” He’s looking down as his hands before standing and taking a seat on the couch next to Bucky’s armchair. 

Something about the quiet confession warms Bucky’s chest and he can’t keep back the soft smile that he hopes isn’t as dopey as it feels. “Me too, Professor,” he replies quietly, fiddling with his fingers. 

The older man contemplates something for a moment, pursing his lips before looking back at Bucky. “You can call me Steve. If you want. Outside of the classroom, of course,” he adds carefully, and it feels so good to have permission, as if Bucky is right to feel like this connection isn’t one sided, that it isn’t some useless crush on a professor that wants nothing to do with him. Even though he knows that he probably isn’t special; it’s just that Steve is just so goddamn  _ nice _ , and would probably treat any student that spent the amount of time that Bucky does the same way. 

Still, the ego boost definitely goes to his head and he’s too tired to fight it. “Alright, Steve,” he replies, testing the name the way the other man did several minutes before, and Steve smiles so softly, so tenderly, that Bucky’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. Bucky stands and Steve follows suit, heading to the door. 

“Buck?” he asks at the door, voice hesitant. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy to take care of you if you get hurt again.” His face is teasing but his voice is sincere and Bucky spends the next hour with a smile on his face. 

… 

Bucky rides the wave of happiness that the notorious afternoon causes for the next several days. Friday, he doesn’t stay after class but he gives his best, “Bye, Professor,” from beneath his lashes because he knows that it will make Steve’s cheeks turn that wonderful shade of pink. 

It’s Saturday afternoon when he gets the call that his mom’s sick. He’s in the living room with Clint, playing Super Smash Bros, when he gets the call. 

His mom’s voice is hoarse and full of phlegm, and Bucky quickly rushes out of the room. 

_ “Hey, Bucky,” _ she greets him around a cough.

“Hey, Ma. What’s going on, are you okay?” He tries not to let the panic seep into his voice, even though the tears are already welling. His mom had dealt with lung cancer for two years before she was declared to be in remission six months ago. 

_ “I’m fine, baby, it’s just a cold. Doctors already checked and it’s not a relapse.” _ Her voice is thick but warm as ever and Bucky leans against the wall as his legs threaten to give way. 

“How long have you been sick?” He swallows thickly, relief still not fully setting in at the knowledge that she’s really okay. 

_ “Just a couple days, we wanted to be sure of whether it was a relapse before we told you.” _

Bucky feels a wave a knowledge wash over him. He should be there. He should be there every step of that process, taking care of her and making soup the way he used to, whether it was a relapse or not. He should be there for the news, for the beginning, for the stress, for the waiting, and for the first time, he isn’t. Instead he’s off at school, focusing on a career and education instead of family and his responsibility, and even though he knows this is what his mom wants him to do, wants him to go follow his dreams, he is riddled with guilt that he’s not there, making Matzo-ball soup. 

He leaves the apartment without a word to Clint, even though he can feel his questioning gaze on his back. He needs to get out, to be away from four walls and a cramped space. Dusk is falling but he doesn’t give a fuck. He hops on a bus and makes his way to the subway, not paying attention to where he is or where he’s going. He just wants some time and space, just to think. 

He doesn’t watch the time, just rides the subway for who knows how long, but it steadily grows less and less crowded until he’s only in the same car with a couple other people. He’s let a few tears slip out because who the fuck is going to notice/care? 

He’s staring out the black window when he feels someone standing next to the seat, considering how many open rows there are. Bucky looks up when the person doesn’t move and of fucking course it’s his professor who happens to be attractive beyond belief. Trust his luck. 

He wipes an eye to make sure no more tears are leaking but he knows that it must be quite obvious what he was doing. 

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks quietly and Bucky shifts to give him more room in silent invitation. 

They ride in silence for a bit with Steve warm by his side, and it’s almost nice. The tears are done for the moment and Bucky suddenly feels the exhaustion of having cried for however long he’s been on the train. The ride is bumpy and they occasionally get jostled into one another, and Bucky is sad but not oblivious to the way Steve is just a wall of solid muscle. 

God, when did Bucky get this tired? Lacking inhibition, he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder because it’s too heavy to keep up anymore and he seems like he would be a comfy pillow. Steve doesn’t comment for several minutes before breaking the silence with a soft, “Wanna talk about it?” 

It’s a casual question, carefully worded so that Bucky can easily decline if he wants to, and Bucky is surprised by how considerate the offer is, leaving the control in Bucky’s hands. 

He deliberates for a moment, considering if he even can put it into words, if he should considering how lucky he is anyway, he really shouldn’t even be upset. His mom hasn’t relapsed, he’s in college, healthy and happy. It’s dumb, but he decides to tell Steve anyway, just to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry, that Bucky is fine. 

“My Ma’s sick, nothing major or anything… but I used to make her Matzo-ball soup, and I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself since I can’t do it anymore since I’m so far. It’s not a huge thing, I just… needed a sec.” He feels more than hears Steve’s hum in acknowledgement. 

“Being away from family is hard,” he murmurs after a moment, and Bucky closes his eyes briefly to stave off the tears, (Jesus, hasn’t he had enough of them?), and opens them as Steve hesitantly puts his hand on Bucky’s knee and gives it a comforting squeeze. 

His hand is huge and warm, and he doesn’t move it, heating Bucky’s body all from that small point of contact. “Yeah, ‘specially ‘cause it’s my mom… reason I’m so old for my grade is because my mom had cancer a couple years back. She pushed through it and has been cancer free for over a year now, so…” 

He trails off, staring straight ahead, and the hand on his knee gives another gentle squeeze. “She must be quite the fighter,” Steve murmurs quietly, voice deep and low but still audible over the rumbling of the subway. “Are you going back to campus?” Steve asks quietly into his ear, and Bucky looks up and for the first time realizes he’s been going in the opposite direction for over two hours and that he ought to get off soon, but he hasn’t found the will to stand yet. 

Instead, he shrugs and nuzzles into Steve’s bicep which is readily available and hard as marble and yet still the perfect firmness for nuzzling. 

“It’s really late,” Steve hedges carefully, not moving his arm away although he seems unsure of whether he ought to. He’s sitting more stiffly than before, Bucky can’t help but notice, so he sits up to give the other man some space. To his surprise, Steve does not remove the warm hand from his knee. “I’m the next stop… If you’d like to crash at my place, I have a fold out couch…” He leaves the offer there, and God, even though Steve clearly doesn’t know what to do, he obviously wants to help and Bucky is grateful. 

Bucky considers the offer for a minute, not wanting to intrude on the other man’s home yet again, but he checks his phone and he wouldn’t be able to get back to his apartment before midnight, and he has a midterm tomorrow… “Thank you,” he whispers and decides that he’s too tired to keep his head up any longer, so he leans against Steve once more and feels the older man relax against him. 

A moment later, he feels Steve rest his cheek on the top of his head. They are both quiet for the rest of the ride as well as the walk up to the apartment. Exhaustion seems to have finally caught up with Bucky and he feels Steve watching him carefully, as though he is going to collapse at any moment. 

In the apartment, Steve leads Bucky into the bedroom without hesitation and it feels proprietary and intimate, like he shouldn’t be allowed to see this part of Steve’s life and his space. He pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt from a drawer and grabs a pillow from the bed. “You can sleep here,” Steve says, and Bucky is so surprised by the offer that he stands motionless for a moment. 

He opens his mouth to argue but something in the way that Steve is looking at him stops him in his tracks. The look is pleading and worried, like he’s requesting it for his own sake and not for Bucky’s, which doesn’t make any sense at all. “I did the laundry this morning, so it’s all clean… and I’d feel too guilty making you take the fold out couch,” he finishes, half of his mouth quirking up in a sheepish smile. 

He’s so earnest in his offer, and something in the look leaves Bucky helpless to refuse, and he finds that he is accepting far too many of Steve’s offers, one’s that politeness would have him turn down. But Bucky’s never been very polite. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says but he knows that it’s nowhere near enough as he takes the pajamas from Steve’s hands. He’s almost blinded by the joy in Steve’s smile, joy that Bucky has accepted his help and care, and it immediately makes all of the embarrassment and awkwardness worth it. Just that one smile. 

“Bathrooms the first door on your right,” Steve says, heading to the door. “Night, Buck,” he says quietly, closing the door carefully behind him. 

Bucky washes up and uses a spare toothbrush he found in the cabinet under the sink and then changes into the pj’s, which are big on him but so freaking soft, and they smell like laundry and something masculine underneath, something he knows must be Steve. He snuggles into the bed and is shameless in his imagination that Steve is sharing it with him, curling into the covers and around the increasingly familiar scent of the older man. It’s a comforting presence and despite the new place, (and the fact that the hottest man alive is just outside the door), Bucky falls asleep quickly. 

…

Bucky awakens slowly, stretching carefully before peaking open his eyes. The room is unfamiliar but the previous night returns to him in a rush as he glances at the nightstand where a photo of Steve sits with his arm around a woman. They both appear happy and Bucky can’t help but notice that she’s incredibly beautiful, a curl of jealousy flaring deep in his belly despite himself. They both look happy and Bucky resolves himself to leave the room and get away from the photo. 

He follows the scent of coffee into the kitchen where Steve is sitting at the counter in front of a laptop, mug of coffee beside him. He looks up as Bucky enters the room, blinking sleepily and rubbing at one eye. His hair is probably a wreck and his face feels puffy from crying yesterday but he is too tired at the moment to care. 

Steve doesn’t seem to either because the smile he shines at Bucky is borderline dopey, all adorable and soft. Bucky looks at him somewhat questioningly but Steve just shakes his head. He approaches Bucky slowly, eyes not leaving his own, dark, intense, and full of heat, and Bucky stands frozen. 

He stares, unmoving, until Steve is so close, seeming larger than life with the height difference so pronounced, and Bucky licks his lower lip unconsciously. Heat pools low in his belly as Steve’s eyes follow the movement, and then a large hand is reaching, Bucky thinks for his face, and his eyelids lower slightly because this is the moment, Steve is going to close the distance between the two of them, but then he’s reaching behind Bucky’s head, opening the cabinet there and retrieving a mug. 

He steps out of Bucky’s space, and Bucky immediately mourns the loss of heat. He thinks the edges of Steve’s lips are threatening a smirk and Bucky wants to be annoyed but he can’t. Steve hums softly to himself as he pours Bucky a mug of coffee and then grabs the creamer and sugar. Bucky watches curiously as Steve sets them in front of him and Bucky gives him a grateful look. 

He takes a sip and moans, eyes closing. Fuck, this is much better than dining hall coffee. He opens his eyes and Steve’s pupils are dilated, blue eyes almost black, lips parted as he breathes through his mouth, and isn’t this an interesting development? 

Even if Steve doesn’t share Bucky’s feelings of… whatever the nonsexual version of more than platonic is since he’s obviously just a super nice person, there’s no denying that he’s attracted to Bucky. Which, to be fair, isn’t something Bucky can hold against him. He’s fit and has a tight ass and gives the best goddamn blow jobs in all of New York. 

But it does make blood flow southward knowing that Steve swings this way… and that he likes what he sees. 

But then Steve blinks and the look is gone, and he’s taking a seat back at the counter. “I’m driving up to campus in about an hour, so I’d be happy to give you a ride if you’d like,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just been imagining Bucky without clothes on, and it’s enough to give Bucky whiplash. It’s just not fair that the guy can be so fucking nice and beautiful and smart and yet still make Bucky want to bend over every time he’s around the older man. 

“That would be great, thank you. And thanks for letting me stay here… and listening. I really appreciate all that you do.” Bucky tries to make the words come out as sincere as they are in his head but he’s never been great at explicit emotions so even as he says it as he takes the seat next to Steve, he remains staring down at his coffee mug, fiddling with the handle. 

He feels a hand on his own and Bucky looks into those bright blue eyes, warm and soft with those small crinkles in the corners as Steve gives him a smile and his hand a squeeze. The rest of their morning is spent in companionable quiet that feels more domestic than it should but Bucky wouldn’t change it for the world. 

He grabs a quick shower and refolds the bed before he goes because he feels weird about messing with Steve’s things and making the tidy space disorganized. 

The drive is short but sweet, with a few exchanged jokes and comments and shared smiles, and when he and Steve part ways, he deliberates for a moment before rushing to him and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist in a tight hug, relishing the single second where Steve’s hands come to rest on his shoulder and the back of his head before Bucky is pulling away with a shy wave and another thank you. 

He glances over his shoulder and Steve is standing there, watching him with humor in his eyes and a fond smile.

…

Thursday night, Steve cancels class for the following morning and Bucky is surprised by how disappointed he is. Three days with no blushing Steve, no huge arms and muscles, no bright grin that makes Bucky’s knees weak… It’s almost unbearable to think about. 

The weekend stretches by and Bucky is too preoccupied with a paper he has for his writing class to do much that’s fun, although he does have a movie night with Clint and Natasha. He’s bouncing on his feet Sunday night, ready for the weekend to be over because when Monday comes, it means he gets to see Steve again. 

Monday morning, the attendance sheet is passed around the room as usual before being passed to the front at the end of the lecture. This time, Bucky holds onto it. He’s in the front row so it’s not all that unusual but he’ll be damned if he passes up even the barest of excuses to have a conversation with his professor. 

He waits for the rest of the classroom to clear quickly, waits as a few stragglers ask their questions to the TA’s and Steve before heading out as well. He packs up obscenely slowly, even slower than Steve does and he has considerably more items, and when the room is clear and Bucky is on the seventh minute of putting his laptop in his bag, Steve watches him with a crooked smile, eyes amused and full of mirth. 

“Need any help?” he asks playfully and Bucky sighs heavily. He zips up the bag and swings it over his shoulder easily before picking up the attendance. He approaches the older man slowly, enjoying being the sole focus of those blue eyes and he adds a little extra sway to his hips, reveling in the way Steve seems to be having a hard time keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face. 

“Just the attendance, sir,” he says innocently, holding out the pages of names to Steve. 

His professor raises a curious eyebrow, looking at Bucky expectantly. “You don’t have to call me sir, Buck,” he says after a moment, packing the attendance sheet into his own bag. 

Bucky laughs and puts on a tone of innocence. “You don’t like sir? What about master?” he asks playfully. Steve chuckles and shakes his head, watching Bucky with amusement. “Captain?” he asks, pretending to think for a moment, tapping his chin as Steve laughs again. He’s looking at him with a mixture of amusement and fondness and it makes Bucky’s heart quicken and his common sense virtually nonexistent. “Daddy?”

The laughter immediately ceases and fuck, Bucky must have struck a nerve or made Steve incredibly uncomfortable, because his face no longer has the easy lightness from just a moment before. Bucky is filled with shame and embarrassment and fiddles with his fingers in front of him, glancing up at Steve’s face once more to see if there is anger there, but what he sees makes his breath catch in his throat. 

Steve is breathing through parted lips, heavier than usual, and despite the fact that Bucky wants to track the rise and fall of that ridiculous large chest, his eyes instead are drawn to Steve’s, pupils blown wide and dark, and fuck, Bucky  _ knows _ that look. 

He’s sure he’s directed it at Steve at least half a million times during his classes, but he would never in a hundred years think he would be on the receiving end of it from Sexy Professor. 

But there Steve is, looking at Bucky with a mix of caution and arousal, and for a moment Bucky is frozen with indecision. And holy shit, Steve fucking Rogers has a daddy king. 

“You like taking care of me…” Bucky realizes aloud and Steve stands there, unmoving, as though frozen as he awaits Bucky’s next more. He looks back down at the ground before gazing up at Steve once more, taking a step closer as he peers up from beneath his lashes. “And you like it when I’m good for you, don’t you Daddy?” 

Steve lets out a strained groan that makes all of Bucky’s blood pool southward, one that he wants to make happen again. “You have no idea what you do to me, Baby Boy,” he rumbles and Bucky takes another small step, and to his relief, a large hand comes to cup Bucky’s face, a thumb running along Bucky’s cheek briefly, eyes dark and heated. Bucky bites his lower lip in arousal. 

Bucky is frozen, waiting for Steve to take the lead and close the distance finally,  _ finally _ , but then the spell is broken and the hand drops. Steve takes a step back that feels much farther than it probably is and Bucky sways on his feet, thrown off balance without the other man’s proximity. 

Steve’s face has closed off, the arousal and longing that had been there a moment before now gone, replaced by warriness and perhaps disappointment. “It’s not appropriate for a professor to be seeing one of his students… and I’m much too old for you.” 

Bucky stares at him for a moment before rolling his eyes, surprising both of them. “First of all, the TA’s do all individual grading so you can’t be accused of favoritism. Second, you’re what, thirty? So seven years older?” Bucky raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘seriously?’ 

“Eight,” Steve corrects quietly. 

Bucky gives him a dry look before taking a careful step closer once more, not close enough to make Steve uneasy but to hopefully demonstrate that he’s serious. “We’re both consenting adults…” Bucky begins carefully, waiting just in case Steve protests, but he continues when Steve waits silently, “and I understand if you don’t want…  _ whatever _ this,” he says, gesturing wildly between them, “to interfere with your job on campus, but…” 

Steve is looking at him thoughtfully, cautiously, and his eyes are so closed off, his face shuttered, and Bucky really can’t get a read on him at all. 

“Unless I was mistaken,” he finishes, and he sounds dejected even to his own ears, but he can’t help it. For a split second he had thought he had a small sliver of a chance that his feelings, (at least the lustful ones), could be returned. But no, he’s a fucking idiot with a schoolboy crush on his professor and Steve is too nice to flat out reject him. 

Bucky looks at the ground, trying to think of how he can get himself out of this mess without fucking things up worse. But then Steve takes his head in those huge hands, bringing him closer to that large, delicious body. “No, no Buck, you weren’t. There are just so many things you should consider before…” 

Bucky purses his lips for a moment, trying not to lose focus despite the fact that Steve is still holding his face in his hands and a thumb is stroking his cheek. “Okay… and if I consider the fact that I look forward to class every day, not just because this stuff is interesting but because it means I get to see you? And if I consider the fact that in three weeks you won’t even be my professor anymore? And taking all these considerations, I want to try… whatever this is?” He looks up hesitantly and is grateful that he is still so close to the older man, heat from his body comforting as Bucky naturally leans in. 

He watches the indecision on Steve’s face, different emotions flashing through: worry, caution, perhaps hope? And wow, he’s actually considering this. Steve hasn’t given a definite no and that has to count for something, right? “Then… we see where it goes. If that’s what you still want when the quarter ends.” 

Bucky nods because that seems reasonable, even if it means he has to wait, which he is certainly less than thrilled about. Steve’s hand moves back, playing with the hairs at the base of his skull, scratching lightly at his scalp, and it feels so good that Bucky has a hard time forming words for a moment. “And if you change  _ your _ mind?” he asks from beneath his lashes. 

Steve chuckles darkly and Bucky’s stomach does a flip at the noise. He shakes his head and pulls Bucky into his chest, placing a chaste kiss to his temple and murmurs, “Not likely.”

… 

The next three weeks are hell. But also the best Bucky’s had in a while. Now that he knows how Steve sees him, he’s overanalyzing every look, every smile, any sliver of attention Steve gives to Bucky, because now he  _ knows _ Steve isn’t just being nice. Not when he can remember how dark those eyes were, how full of arousal and power his stance was… 

They’re cordial and normal in and after class, although Bucky doesn’t turn down the flirting quite as much as he did before. He enjoys seeing that red flush too much to try to turn it off, though he does keep it to when they are alone of course. 

He hands in the attendance the next week after class and to his surprise, Steve asks about his mom. Bucky is taken aback even though he knows he really shouldn’t be. This is just the kind of person Steve is; he remembers those things and asks about them from a place of genuine concern and curiosity, not for the sake of politeness. 

“She’s much better thank you,” he replies with a small smile that probably betrays the way how fast his heart is beating. 

Steve returns with a genuine smile and a quiet, “Good, I’m glad.” 

And Bucky can’t resist giving Steve’s forearm a squeeze before he goes, craving just a small point of contact, even if it’s just for a moment. 

The next week marks the final drawing near, and as much as the rest of the class probably dreads the test worth 50% of their grade, for Bucky, it can’t come fast enough. Turning in the final means that their business is done, means that the TA’s finish entering grades and that Steve is just Steve, no longer Professor Rogers. 

Wednesday, Steve announces that he will be having office hours from 10:00 to 4:00 the following day in his office in case of any last minute questions before the final. Two more days. 

Thursday is Bucky’s easy day with one class over by 11 and since Bucky has nothing better to do and is just a good person with no ulterior motives whatsoever, he decides to bring Steve lunch. He’s bringing one for himself and is planning on bullshitting a question for the office hours for an excuse to spend time with the older man anyway… 

So he makes Steve a turkey sandwich to the best of his ability with what little he has and packs an apple as well. When he knocks on the doorframe to his office at about noon, Steve glances up from his computer and Bucky can tell the very second Steve realizes who it is. His face lights up, polite stiffness gone and replaced by a warm so of comfort that has grown over the past several weeks. 

He fixes Bucky with a blinding grin and Bucky returns it shyly. He holds up the bag with a timid, “Lunch?” 

Steve looks perplexed but doesn’t protest as Bucky takes a seat in one of the chairs facing each other across from Steve’s desk. A moment later, Steve joins him in the seat next to him. He gives Bucky a puzzled look as he digs into the bag, handing Steve one of the sandwiches. 

“You seem like the type to work so hard you miss meals,” he says by way of explanation, looking down to focus on unwrapping his sandwich. When he glances back up, Steve is looking at him with a warm fondness and incredulous wonder, like he can’t believe anyone would have been so kind as to put some things between two slices of bread and bring them to him. 

Bucky should be used to it by now, the way that Steve is kind to a fault and expects absolutely nothing in return, but even after three months of witnessing and being on the receiving end of that bottomless kindness, it never fails to warm Bucky’s heart. 

Lunch is a casual affair and Steve tells Bucky about his life, about how he grew up skinny and frail but hit a massive growth spurt in the late teens… he tells Bucky the light things like his nephew and the ridiculous things kids say, and he also talks to Bucky about the harder stuff, like losing his mom and needing to work his ass off to be able to survive, and he never really grew out of that habit. 

It’s intimate knowledge, something Bucky wasn’t prepared for, but he can’t help feeling closer to Steve and almost special, knowing this isn’t information he shares with many. It also makes things feel a little bit more even since Steve has borne witness to more than a few of Bucky’s more private moments.

After over an hour, Bucky feels his phone vibrating and pulls it out to see he’s missed a few calls from Clint. Checking his phone, he realizes he’s taken up two hours of Steve’s time, having lost track with the flow of the conversation and the comfortable atmosphere between the two of them. 

He stands abruptly, and Steve follows suit, although he looks at Bucky with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Everything alright?” he asks hesitantly and Bucky blinks, realizing what it might look like. 

“Yes, yes, don’t worry, just my roommate. I lost track of time, I was supposed to meet him twenty minutes ago,” he explains sheepishly and Steve’s expression eases with kind understanding, cheeks pink. 

“Ah, you should get going, then. Thank you for lunch,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s arm and heat radiates from that one spot, spreading through his body. 

“Anytime, Stevie,” he replies with a flirtatious smile, and he leans up, standing on his tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek.

It’s brief and casual but he darts out of the room quickly, cheeks warm, and glances back over his shoulder to where Steve is smiling after him, fingers touching where his lips had been just a moment before. 

…

Taking the final is agony. Bucky’s prepared, of course. Every question has been answered numerous times during lecture and discussions so everyone who attended and paid some semblance of attention should be able to pass. This, of course, is not taking into account the amount of distraction that is Steve Rogers sitting at the front of the lecture hall, working at a table, in his usual formal but too tight clothing and of course that perfect, chiseled jaw and bright blue eyes. 

Steve meets his gaze a couple times throughout the two hour final when Bucky zones out, nearly drooling as he watches Steve’s eyes dart around the page or his fingers flex around his pen. Every time their eyes meet, Steve gives him a small, secret smile that is so brief, Bucky is never sure if he just imagined it but for the number of times it keeps happening. 

Bucky begins to doodle on the outside of his short answer questions because he wants to talk about their deal as soon as possible, and the soonest moment that Steve is no longer his professor is when the final exam is over. So all he needs to do is sit here and wait for the rest of the students to turn in their exams. The TA’s aren’t present today so when his classmates are gone, Bucky will be able to be alone with Steve. 

The last student aside from Bucky takes approximately a million years before she turns in her exam and why anyone would need that amount of time for a stupid test is utterly ridiculous, although in any other scenario Bucky wouldn’t fault her for being thorough. He just wants to get this show on the road. 

When she has finally turned in the test and packed her stuff and is finally, finally, out of the room, Bucky goes to turn in his own exam. He hands it to Steve, allowing their fingers to brush as he hands it over. 

He swallows, nerves suddenly taking over despite having prepared for this for the past hour. “Guess you’re not my professor anymore,” he says quietly, looking up shyly at Steve where he’s met with a wry smile. 

“Guess not,” Steve murmurs back. 

“Do you still…” Bucky begins hesitantly, biting his lip before he can finish the sentence. 

Steve smiles fondly and shifts his feet, glancing at the floor before looking back at Bucky once more, appearing so young for just a moment that Bucky can’t help but smile. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Steve asks, looking nervous for a moment before his face shifts and the vulnerability is gone. But Bucky didn’t miss it. 

“I’d love to,” he murmurs with a smile and Steve looks far too happy for the circumstances; you’d have thought he’d just won a million dollars, the way he’s looking at Bucky. 

“Tomorrow?” he asks hopefully and Bucky nods with a grin. 

… 

They agree to meet at the entrance to campus at seven pm and Bucky waits nervously, fiddling with his jacket that Nat bought him at the beginning of the year that she insists highlights his figure. Bucky agrees, but he’s not so vain as to say so aloud. More than once. 

He’s just about to consider texting Steve a “hey, I’m here :)” or something that hopefully appears just as casual when he actually sees him. Steve looks just as hot as usual but is somehow accentuated by the fact that he dressed up for Bucky, that his hair is still a bit damp because he wanted to look nice for  _ Bucky _ . 

Bucky subconsciously smooths his hair at the sight of Steve looking casual and yet so put together and so totally out of his league. Steve’s easy smile softens when he sets eyes on Bucky, a hand reaching up to brush his hair out his eyes and lingering on his cheek for just an extra moment. 

“Ready?” Steve asks, excitement evident in his tone and shining through every pore. It’s amazing that he’s not bouncing on the balls of his feet, and once again, Bucky is struck by how young he almost seems. 

Bucky nods, grinning and lacing his fingers with Steve’s because he’s  _ allowed _ to do this now, and the bright, surprised smile that Steve gives him makes the blood rush in his ears. Steve leads Bucky to the parking lot at the base of campus. They drive with casual conversation, Steve mildly asking about plans for the weekend and things of the like and the radio playing quietly in the background, but of course when Beyonce comes on, Bucky has no choice but to cut off his own sentence and turn the volume way up. 

He sings along to every word, effective with dance moves as well, and becomes so absorbed in the music temporarily that he almost forgets his nervousness and trepidation from before. He glances over at Steve who has this affectionate smile on his face, glancing at Bucky every once in a while and laughing at the particularly exaggerated dance moves. 

Steve takes him to a restaurant in the nice side of town, one he’s never even seen before but that has white table cloths and wine lists that he can’t pronounce half of. Bucky’s never been to a place like this unless it was for a wedding or incredibly special occasion, certainly not a date, and he feels entirely out of his element as a broke college student that can barely afford housing with all of his scholarships. 

But he wants to enjoy what he thinks is a first date with Steve, or at least hopes, but he finds he cannot relax in such an ornate place, especially as he worries how he’ll ever be able to afford splitting the bill. 

But Steve seems almost perfectly at ease, scanning the menu idly and occasionally glancing up to give Bucky a smile. Bucky himself looks over the menu, trying to find what will do the least damage to his bank account, when he feels something brush against his foot underneath the table. Bucky resists the urge to look under the table and instead flexes his toes, knowing that Steve will be able feel that bit of pressure and if he does think that Bucky is the table, then he can pull his foot away. 

To his surprise, Steve glances up and raises his brows, a teasing of a smirk playing on his mouth, and pushes his foot just that half a millimeter closer so that it is a warm, comforting presence beneath the table, secret and known only to the two of them. Bucky tries to fight off his own smile but can tell that he fails because Steve has this twinkle in his eyes. 

Bucky ends up ordering the cheapest thing he can that still ends up being far more than he spends in a month. Steve asks if he’d like anything to drink and Bucky politely declines, and for a brief moment, a shadow runs across Steve’s face as he looks almost as out of his element as Bucky feels, but then the moment is gone and Steve is once again his charming, confident self. 

“So you have… four siblings?” Steve asks incredulously, taking a sip of his wine. His fingers wind around the stem of the glass, elegant and graceful, and something about the way those long fingers curl around the glass makes heat pool in Bucky’s belly. 

Bucky huffs a laugh at the question but it feels almost forced as his thoughts had certainly strayed rather far from his siblings for a moment. “Yes, I’m the eldest and then there’s Rebecca, Amy, Holden, and Arthur.” He smiles fondly thinking about them, and twists some of his pasta around his fork, looking down at his plate for a distraction from those blue eyes that seem to be able to look right through him. 

“Are you going to go home to celebrate the holidays?” Steve asks casually and Bucky purses his lips, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I, uh, can’t. Flights are expensive so I’m not really celebrating this year.” Bucky attempts a smile and casual shrug but can’t quite manage it. 

Steve nods, furrow between his brow signaling that he’s thinking. 

“What about you?” Bucky asks, trying to breeze into another topic to shift the focus off of himself and Steve shakes his head, eyes clearing. “My parents passed several years ago so I usually celebrate with my brother and his family. 

“Ah, yes, the  _ nephew _ ,” Bucky says conspiratorially and Steve laughs. 

“Yes, the nephew,” he replies, shaking his head with a smile. 

The conversation then turns to pleasant chatter about siblings and nephews and dealing with young children whom one is biologically related to. It’s casual and easy and almost doesn’t feel like a date. There’s little flirting, no more than usual on Bucky’s side, but he doesn’t really mind. He’d been hopeful but not expectant of much, and he’s okay with just having a casual friendship with the man who used to be his professor. 

The waiter comes by after clearing their dishes and asks if they’d care for any dessert but Steve answers quickly, saying, “Just the bill when you get the chance, please.” 

Bucky laces his hands in front of him, staring down at his lap. He’s blown it, he’s blown his chance with Steve and he’s changed his mind and he’s given Bucky a chance but he’s too much younger, too immature and not good enough for the near perfection that is Steve. He can’t meet Steve’s eyes as the waiter brings the check, fishing in his pocket for his wallet, but when he brings it out, Steve gives him a look of confusion and shakes his head. 

It’s a look that leaves no room for argument and Bucky certainly isn’t going to try; his stomach feels too tight and the air feels too hot. When the bill is paid, they stand together and Steve gives him a fraction of a smile, more polite than anything else. 

Steve opens the door for him again which Bucky is coming to realize is more just a politeness thing that encapsulates Steve than anything else, but it still makes Bucky’s face heat. Steve starts the engine and stares out the dark windshield but doesn’t begin to drive. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly, suddenly breaking the awkward silence that has hung heavy between them. Bucky’s head whips to the side so quickly that he almost hurts himself.  _ He’s _ the one that fucked this up, Steve didn’t-- “That wasn’t a very good place for a first date. It’s…  _ hard _ to have a real conversations in restaurants like those, I should’ve--” 

He cuts himself off, shaking his head and staring out the windshield. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve-- so I’m sorry,” he finishes, words barely more than a breath, hardly audible.

He shakes his head but Steve isn’t looking at him. “Me too,” he says after a moment, reaching across the console to tentatively take Steve’s hand. Steve finally looks at him at the gesture, eyes wide and surprised but they soften when they see Bucky’s expression. 

“Would you like to get some coffee?” Steve asks, humor in his eyes and something warmer, something more intimate that Bucky can’t name. 

Bucky squeezes his hand with a grin. “I’d love to, Stevie. But maybe for tonight we could go for something  _ harder _ than coffee…” He purposefully puts the emphasis on ‘harder’, voice dropping into a low, seductive tone, crooked smile occupying his face. 

Steve licks his teeth briefly, a quick flash of tongue that makes Bucky’s mouth run dry. “Yes, I have alcohol,” he replies, chuckling quietly. 

“Excellent.” 

… 

They end drinking beer on the couch while watching some action movie on Netflix, full of explosions and cool effects that Bucky can’t even pay attention to. Instead he is increasingly aware of the way Steve’s body feels next to his own, how warm and surprisingly comfortable his shoulder is to rest his head on. 

Bucky is feeling warm and somewhat sleepy, an effect of the beer and the company he has no doubt, and he’s surprised how comfortably domestic it is. Bucky nuzzles further into Steve’s shoulder to get more comfortable (closer) and Steve lifts his arm, pulling Bucky’s body to his own and wrapping his arm around him. 

Bucky closes his eyes because the warmth and using Steve’s body as a pillow is just pretty much the best thing he can imagine, (other than taking what is sure to be Steve’s monster cock up his ass). But that can wait. For a bit. 

Bucky feels Steve turn his head and a kiss pressed into his hair, soft and sweet and Bucky opens his eyes to fix Steve with what is sure to be a big ‘ole dopey smile, but the warmth in Steve’s eyes is enough to make him forget to be self conscious. Steve likes him, Bucky can see it in his eyes, he is genuinely pleased that Bucky is there and that makes something curl and awaken in his chest, something that hasn’t moved for years. 

Bucky watches with silent fascination as Steve looks at him with what can almost be called wonder, watches unmoving as Steve slowly leans in, eyes not leaving his own, giving Bucky plenty of time to back out if he wants to. Which is definitely the opposite of what he wants right now. 

Bucky meets him halfway, letting Steve cup his cheek and place a sweet kiss on his lips. It’s so slow and tender that Bucky can’t help but sigh, his whole body melting under Steve’s touch. His own hand come up to Steve’s chest, feeling those huge pecs and sliding up to his neck to play at the hair on the back of his head. 

Steve’s large hands slide into Bucky’s hair, tugging slightly and making Bucky moan into his mouth, and Steve uses the opening to deftly slide his tongue in and taste Bucky. Bucky lets Steve use his mouth, allows the kiss to deepen as he begins to press his lips more fervently to Steve’s, all those months of having to watch them move as Steve spoke, of wanting those hands on his body, catching up in that moment. 

Bucky feels himself harden in his jeans because Steve fucking dominates the kiss, holding his jaw in place so that he can abuse Bucky’s mouth in the best way imaginable, licking and sucking at Bucky’s lips and biting playfully at his lower lip. Bucky swings a leg across Steve’s lap so that he is straddling him, feeling that thick erection against his own. 

He grinds down, moaning brokenly into Steve’s mouth and the older man’s hips thrust upwards almost subconsciously, an automatic movement spurred by the friction. 

Steve breaks the kiss to trail his lips and tongue down Bucky’s throat, murmuring soft nothings in the warm air, words that fill Bucky’s chest. “So pretty, Baby,” he mumbles against the hollow of Bucky’s throat, nibbling at the soft flesh there and Bucky tilts his head back to give him better access, panting softly. 

“Do you know,” he begins, tugging at the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck to bring him up to meet Bucky’s eyes, “how difficult… and distractingly gorgeous you were every day?” he asks Steve, smile toying on his lips and he leans in to kiss Steve soundly. “And you were so smart…. And you cared about what you taught… you made everyone feel special,” he interrupts himself with another kiss. “God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he mumbles against Steve’s mouth and those large hands wander down to Bucky’s hips, controlling their movements in a way that is pleasurable for both of them. 

Steve’s mouth is on his throat once more, sucking and biting in ways that are sure to leave bruises tomorrow, and Bucky is glad as he  _ wants _ to wear Steve’s mark on his skin for as long as he can get it. Steve gives a particularly sharp bite and Bucky cries out. “ _ Fuck _ , Daddy,” he moans, the words seeming to surprise the both of them, but they roll off Bucky’s tongue, and they feel right, and there is the added benefit of Steve reaching down to palm at Bucky’s erection at the words. 

“You’re so wet for me, Baby Boy,” he rumbles, thumb playing at the tip of Bucky’s cock which is leaking rapidly. 

Bucky can’t keep his hands still, he needs to feel the sculpted lines and hard ridges of Steve’s muscles. He’s even more of an Adonis than Bucky could have ever imagined, especially when Bucky is finally able to finish unbuttoning Steve’s shirt and finally,  _ finally _ trail his hands across those smooth muscles. He runs a thumb over one of Steve’s nipples, peaked and hard, and he wonders if Steve is as sensitive as he is there. 

Steve is still stroking him still above his pants, but the barrier is getting to be too much, he needs Steve’s hands on him, on his skin, on his aching cock, in him… Steve undoes the pants as though sensing Bucky’s thoughts and Bucky stands and strips because it is just too fucking hard to get the pants off when he’s still straddling Steve’s lap. 

Steve sits up to help Bucky out of his clothes and within moments, he’s in nothing but his briefs, yanking at Steve’s shirt so that he has even better access to that glorious chest and abdomen and Steve lets him, blue eyes dark and calculating, waiting strenuously as his hands clench at his sides, waiting for Bucky’s permission to touch. 

There’s something more intimate without the protection of clothes so Bucky appreciates the hesitation and the opportunity for Bucky to back out or take a moment if he needs to. He doesn’t, but he appreciates it all the same. He resumes his position on top of Steve and frantically brings their mouths back together, Steve’s fingers tangling in the hair in the back of his neck. 

Steve’s hand makes its way underneath the briefs until it’s nothing but Steve’s large hand wrapped around his aching cock, hot skin around him, tugging him somewhat roughly, and even though there’s no lube and it’s hard and fast, Bucky can’t imagine it being any more perfect. This is Steve, watching him like he’s the most captivating thing he’s ever laid eyes on, watching and waiting as Bucky slowly falls apart. 

The hand speeds up as Bucky moans loudly, throwing his head back as his chest heaves, and Steve’s mouth is there, tasting his neck, biting and sucking and leaving marks that Bucky can’t wait to trace with his fingers tomorrow. 

“Daddy,” he whines out, clutching at Steve’s broad shoulders as he tries to fight back his impending orgasm, “gonna--”

He means it as a warning, means for Steve to take the hand away so that he can get the hard erection pushing up at him finally inside, but Steve’s rhythm never falters, lips parting from Bucky’s neck and collarbone just long enough to rumble, “Yes, Baby Boy, show daddy how good you are.” 

And with the words said in a voice so low and dark and full of desire, Bucky comes undone crying out as his release spurts into Steve’s hand and paints his own briefs. He’s so wrung out by the best orgasm of his life, that came from a fucking hand job no less, that he doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed by the fact that he came in his underwear like a fucking teenage. Steve had said he could, had told him to do it, was  _ pleased _ that he had, so it had to be okay.

Steve helps him wring the last waves of his orgasm out under he shudders and collapses into Steve’s chest. Strong arms wrap around him as Steve removes his messy hand from Bucky’s sensitive dick. Steve holds him in his arms, whispering soft words of praise as Bucky catches his breath. 

He shifts in Steve’s lap and feels the older man’s erection pressing against his thigh, and boy does he want to help with that. But first he needs to get out of these sticky underwear. He starts to sit up and Steve helps him adjust so that he’s seated on the couch instead, and the older man helps him out of the dirty clothes, takes them into the bedroom and returns with a wet cloth and a fresh pair of boxers. 

His cock is tenting his pants impressively but he seems almost oblivious, and it’s foreign to Bucky but refreshing to be with a man that is not entirely centered on his own pleasure. Steve helps Bucky clean up, lets him get into the new boxers that a few sizes too big but he’s not going anywhere for a bit so it doesn’t matter. 

He places a sweet kiss on Bucky’s lips and takes a seat beside him on the couch, arms open in an invitation. But no, this time, Bucky is not going to accept. Later, he will, but for now he has more pressing matters. Namely, that huge cock still in Steve’s pants for an unacceptable reason that Bucky cannot wait to get his mouth around. 

So instead, he kneels down in front of Steve, parting his thighs so that he has better access to Steve’s waiting cock. He begins to undo Steve’s pants, eyes dazed and he throws a smirk up at Steve and swallows thickly at the look he is receiving. Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, almost black, and his lips are swollen and parted as heavy breaths escape. Bucky can see the power he is trying to hold back in every hard line of that taut body. 

“Bucky, Baby, you don’t have to…” Steve begins, searching Bucky’s face but Bucky’s hands don’t hesitate, eyes up and innocent as he tries to hold back a smile. 

“But, Daddy, I want to,” he says, voice pitching slightly and Steve’s chest rumbles in a near silent groan. “Wanna be good for you.”

A large hand comes to cup Bucky’s cheek as the younger man finally releases that throbbing erection. It’s large, bigger that Bucky thought it would be, but something about imagining Steve spending hours opening him up for that massive member and working himself in…  _ fuck _ , Bucky’s dick gives a half hearted twitch of interest. 

Steve’s thumb strokes his cheek as Bucky scoots closer, eyes on the prize, and sets about what he’s good at. Bucky’s not modest about his bj skills; he nearly lacks a gag reflex entirely and he knows more than a few tricks with hands and tongue. Steve’s bigger than any guy Bucky has ever been with so Bucky starts off slow, wrapping a hand around the base and giving the head a lick. 

He suckles lightly, flicking his tongue against the sensitive underside of his cock and Steve’s hips give an involuntary twitch and Bucky can tell that he’s restraining himself from thrusting into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky works his way down, taking the head into his mouth and pushing, down and down until he feels Steve at the back of his throat. 

He breathes through his nose and lets himself adjust to the weight of having something so large there before beginning a steady rhythm, a slow one for the time being, but from the noises Steve is making as well as the taste of salty precome on his tongue, he can tell it’s one that Steve enjoys as well. 

He picks up the rhythm, working his hand up and down and twisting it slightly as it meets his mouth and he feels Steve’s hand come to rest on the back of his head. It’s not heavy or forceful, not intended to direct Bucky’s motions, but rather a grounding weight that ties them together. 

When Steve’s fingers work their way into Bucky’s hair, Bucky can’t hold back the moan that escapes around the cock in his mouth and Steve’s hips give another involuntary aborted thrust. Bucky can tell that the older man is getting closer as the litany of curses and praises that Bucky is doing such a good job, is so good, so beautiful, have been replaced more often than not by groans and harsh breaths and his hips are almost impossible to keep still. 

“Baby, I’m close,” Steve grunts out, removing his hand from Bucky’s hair to encourage him to move out of the way if he doesn’t want Steve’s orgasm in his mouth, but Bucky does the opposite and takes Steve as far into his throat as he can, moving up and down twice, three times, before Steve comes with a harsh shout, his release pooling on Bucky’s tongue before he swallows it down. 

Bucky feels the tremors of Steve’s orgasm as his hips twitch and quiver, breath harsh and uneven as Steve comes down. The hand returns to Bucky’s hair but this time it’s soft, stroking delicately before trailing to Bucky’s chin and drawing his face up to meet Steve’s eyes. 

The blue eyes are unfocused from fresh orgasm and fuck, Steve looks fucking wrecked. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd places, his cheeks are flushed from exertion and eyes still dark. Jesus, if Bucky had it in him, he would come right on Steve’s lap again. 

“Jesus, Buck, you’re incredible,” he pants out, a hand coming to cup his face again and Bucky feels warm with the praise, even though it’s far from the first time tonight. Steve never fails to keep up the stream of compliments and praise when they’re together, especially when he’s getting off, and Bucky is definitely not complaining. Something about knowing that Steve is pleased with him makes him feel so warm inside and his chest feel tight. 

Steve gives him a soft kiss on the mouth after pulling him up, drawing him into a warm embrace, pulling him to that huge chest and wrapping him up tightly. He pulls Bucky to his feet and somehow, Bucky ends up in the same pajamas he borrowed the first time he slept over all those weeks ago, lying sprawled across the massive expanse of Steve’s chest as they sleep together in his bed. 

…

The next date goes much smoother as they go to a casual dinner at a Mexican place a few blocks from Bucky’s apartment. Bucky rhapsodizes about how amazing the guac is every time and Steve watches with a disgustingly affectionate expression, but Bucky wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Afterwards, Steve pulls him down the street, their hands laced together as they laugh and shove at each other like teenage boys and not the men they are. They go to see a comedy that ends up being much raunchier than anticipated but Steve’s pink-tinged cheeks are more than worth the subpar movie. 

Besides, Bucky isn’t paying attention for the majority of it; he’s too busy burrowing his face into Steve’s chest and reveling in the feeling of those powerful arms around him. Every so often, Steve will give him a squeeze or his hair a kiss that makes Bucky’s heart feel gooey, (not that he’ll ever admit it). 

The movie ends far too soon, despite the fact that they stay cuddling throughout all the credits, but Bucky is also excited to take this to the bedroom again. Steve looks absolutely edible in his tight, long sleeved shirt and jeans that hug his body in all the right places, showing off that rock hard ass and taut thighs. Bucky can’t wait to pull them off. 

They walk back to Bucky’s apartment because Clint is staying at Nat’s place so they’ll have the apartment to themselves. They idly chat about the movie, walking with their sides brushing and Steve’s arm wrapped casually around his shoulders and the weight is warm and comfortable. When they walk back into Bucky’s small, cramped apartment, he feels suddenly awkward despite the ease of the evening. 

Steve’s never been in his space before, never seen the old couch that they found at an old flea market or the fridge that most of the time only houses an old bottle of ketchup and maybe an apple. Steve’s never been in the bedroom that usually has an unmade bed and clothes strewn on a chair in the corner, and even though Bucky had cleaned before leaning in preparation for this, he feels oddly exposed for a brief moment as Steve looks around his small space. 

He hovers in the entryway, watching Steve enter the space and slowly make his way around, looking at the photos on the side table, Clint’s bow that leans in the corner… And of course the saggy couch. 

Bucky clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have… beer and water,” he finishes after a moment, glancing in the fridge. 

“Water would be great,” Steve says with that warm smile that is ten times brighter than Bucky’s ready for and it loosens something in his chest, making him feel more at ease. This is Steve he’s talking about, not some random stranger he’s brought back for a one night stand. Steve with the glowing smile and kind eyes and strong arms that made Bucky feel safer than he ever has. 

Bucky fetches the glasses of water and sets them on the coffee table in front of the couch and motions for Steve to sit. He’s not sure if he should just be blatant and strip without saying anything or wait until Steve indicates he wants to fool around. Then, Steve surprises him. 

“Can I play with your hair?” he asks hesitantly, like he is asking Bucky for some enormous favor and not offering to give the pleasurable sensation of his hands anywhere on Bucky’s body. 

Bucky’s brows crease in mild bewilderment but he nods slightly, joining Steve on the couch and lying down with his head in Steve’s lap at his indication. He peeks up at Steve through his squinted eyes because they are too close together and the moment is too intimate to share real eye contact. 

Bucky’s eyes fall fully closed however when one of Steve’s hands makes its way into Bucky’s hair, pulling out his hair tie and gently untangling it with his fingers. He then begins to scratch lightly at Bucky’s scalp, the feeling almost better than orgasm, which Bucky does not say lightly, but it’s all he can do not to whimper aloud.

God, and it’s only one small point of contact, and Steve has definitely had his hands in more… intimate regions before, but something about the innocence and care of this touch, a touch that is almost proprietary and affectionate, makes Bucky’s chest heat and his stomach tighten. Steve is doing this because he wants Bucky near him and to feel good. Bucky isn’t even sure if he expects they’ll have sex later or if this is how their evening is going to end. 

But Steve has made no such expectations known to Bucky so as far as he can guess, and he would since Steve is Steve and is just so nice and sweet and gooey and caring, this is as far as Steve wants to take it for now. And Bucky is surprisingly okay with that. Steve hums quietly under his breath and he has a nice, deep voice that makes Bucky’s bones loosen and feel safe. 

The next thing Bucky is aware of is that he’s being carried into his bedroom bridal style like he weighs nothing, and perhaps to Steve, this is true, but for the moment he just buries his face deeper into Steve’s chest and hums out a sigh. 

Steve gets him into the bed and makes sure that he is comfortable, but it seems for a moment that Steve is considering leaving so Bucky grabs his wrist and whines, not bothering to act like a sensible adult since it’s practically the middle of the night and Bucky is too loose and delirious to care how he comes across. 

Steve hesitates a moment longer and bites his lower lip so Bucky gives him his best puppy eyes, and in the next moment, Steve is removing his jeans and socks so that he is in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, but bucky is too exhausted to  _ truly _ appreciate the view. 

He’s drifting back to sleep already when Steve joins him in the bed and Bucky wastes no time in curling himself around Steve’s abdomen, sprawling so that his head is resting on Steve’s chest. Steve places a soft kiss on the top of Bucky’s head and then he is gone once more. 

… 

When Bucky awakens again, this time more aware of his surroundings. He’s lying on his side with a warm weight behind him, and instinctively he knows it’s Steve. Bucky has never felt more comfortable than with Steve surround him, a large arm keeping Bucky’s body close to his own, his scent everywhere his body isn’t touching. It’s almost overwhelming, having Steve just about everywhere, but instead of making Bucky feel daunted, it makes him feel safe and warm with the comfortable knowledge that Steve is there, that Steve isn’t about to let anything happen to him. 

There is also the added benefit of feeling the beginnings of Steve’s morning wood pressed up against his backside. Bucky shifts slightly and the arm around him moves, drawing him nearer when he’s done fidgeting. Steve snuffles softly with sleep against the back of Bucky’s neck and Bucky fights back a chuckle. 

He has plans, afterall. He shifts back, pushing his ass more firmly against Steve’s swelling erection and feels his hips twitch. Bucky smirks to himself and wonders idly how hard he can make Steve before he awakens fully. 

Already, his breathing has changed, his breaths quicker right by his ear and it’s more of a turn on than Bucky would have thought. Steve’s arm tightens around his midsection and a hand comes to grasp Bucky’s hip and it is at this point that Bucky knows Steve is awake. Steve’s hips roll against his ass and bucky can feel every point of contact, the way that massive cock fits perfectly between his cheeks…  _ fuck _ , Bucky’s hard. 

“You’re up early,” Steve rumbles in his ear, low and deep and still heavy with sleep. His hips thrust forward again, hand moving down from Bucky’s stomach lower until it’s at the waistline of his pants. 

“Not as  _ up _ as some,” Bucky retorts, smirking as his own hand reaches behind to grasp Steve through his boxers. 

Steve chuckles darkly and shifts so that Bucky is flat on his back as Steve makes his way down between Bucky’s legs, and Bucky’s smirk becomes a choked moan. 

…

They continue this way for several weeks, spending the night at alternating apartments, sometimes going out to eat, sometimes cooking, (even though Bucky doesn’t know how to do much more than soup and pasta). 

It’s definitely the best relationship he’s ever been in, not that he has  _ that _ many to compare it with. Those of his past were largely one offs, and the men that he did date for more than a couple week had their own array of problems; too attached to his mom, too attached to his ex, too attached the receptionist he was fucking… 

The list goes on. 

But this? This is easy, so much easier than he thought it would be. It’s easy being in Steve’s presence, joking, ranting about the subway, talking about their days. And even though it’s easy, Bucky can’t help but feel it’s missing something. They haven’t gotten to the late night talks at midnight or the secrets whispered in the safety of darkness. It still feels almost casual. 

It’s why when Steve mentions Sam for about the sixth time that day, Bucky asks. “Is Sam a… friend?” he asks, hesitating a moment but hoping that Steve won’t notice. But of course, he does. 

“Yeah, Sam and I have been pals for a couple years now, started out as a running buddy,” Steve says with a chuckle that Bucky can guess has a story behind it but he doesn’t ask. Instead he looks down at his hands for a moment, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m not seeing anyone outside of you,” Steve adds quietly, and when Bucky glances up, those blue eyes are soft and open and so kind that Bucky can’t hold back his next question. 

“Do you… want to?” he asks, and he knows his voice sounds small but he feels exposed like a nerve in this moment, like Steve is finally going to see Bucky as just a scared little kid that doesn’t quite know how to do relationships, how to speak completely openly about his thoughts. Someone who’s asking for help in the least obvious way possible. 

He’s afraid to look up because of how stilted and awkward he sounds but he’s  _ trying  _ to put himself out on the line, dammit, and when he finally glances up, it’s because Steve has taken his hand and is caressing the back of his knuckles with his thumb, and he’s shaking his head, concern and perhaps confusion on his face. 

“Is this your way of asking if I want us to be exclusive?” he asks, tone light and gently, almost playful, and his hand gives Bucky’s a squeeze and he knows it’s all going to be okay. 

“Maybe?” Bucky replies with an innocent smile that feels somewhat forced but Steve knows him well enough by now to see right through it. 

“Baby,” Steve begins and Bucky shivers at the pet name as the older man gently places his lips on Bucky’s, softly, a whisper of a kiss before he’s pulling back. “Monogamy is a big thing, and I’m much older than you, so I have a lot more experience in… this department. I don’t ever want you to feel pressured or anything like that so I want to take this at the pace that makes you most comfortable.” 

Bucky stares at him for a moment, unsure how to phrase his next words and is distracted by how fucking  _ blue _ Steve’s eyes are, so open and vulnerable, something that only Bucky gets to see. 

Steve’s hand is still stroking Bucky’s, a comforting bit of connection that keeps him grounded. “So if I asked you to be my… boyfriend…” Bucky hedges, waiting for Steve’s reaction, but he’s only met with a soft smile as his free hand comes to cup Bucky’s cheek. 

“Then I would say yes in a heartbeat,” Steve replies around a chuckle. “But only if that was something you wanted. I don’t want to rush what we have, and only want to do what would make you most comfortable. I’ll happily take whatever you’re willing to give me, even if that means I’m answering psych questions through email and that is the extent of our relationship,” Steve finishes, tone teasing, and it does something to quiet the tension in the air and loosen Bucky’s chest. 

Lacking his previous inhibitions, Bucky surges forward and seizes Steve’s mouth in a kiss, grasping at his shirt as though afraid he will disappear. Steve doesn’t seem quite as desperate as Bucky; he instead kisses with an air of trying to comfort Bucky, to reassure him that he truly isn’t going anywhere. 

They kiss for a few minutes until Bucky pulls back just a touch, looking up at Steve with big eyes from beneath his lashes. “Daddy?” he asks, voice huskier than he would care to admit, and Steve’s eyes darken at the word, pupils dilating. 

“Yeah, Baby?” he asks with a voice like dark chocolate. 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” he asks with an innocent voice but he can’t fight the smile breaking across his face. 

Steve grins, rolling his eyes, but Bucky can tell that he’s pleased that the question was made aloud instead of simply implied. “I would love to be,” Steve murmurs, placing a peck on his nose that makes Bucky wrinkle it, and Steve chuckles, leaning in for a real kiss. 

… 

They have been boyfriends for nearly a month when it all goes to shit. 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky calls as he enters the apartment. He sets his jacket on the armrest of the couch and hears the water running. 

“Hey, Baby,” Steve calls, voice muffled from the closed door and water. “I’m almost done, be out in a minute.” 

Bucky doesn’t reply, checking his phone for a minute before putting it away, bored. He tours the apartment lazily, looking over the photos Steve has hanging and those on the sideboard at the edge of the room. 

He’s seen most of them before, many with nothing more than a glance, but now he has time to kill so he leisurely makes his way around. He grins at the thousands of pictures of Steve and his nephew, Steve and Noah at the beach, Steve and Noah playing ball, Steve and Noah sitting on the rug, faces in identical expressions of shock and tragedy while watching a movie… The list goes on. 

He moves along to a photo of Steve with Sam; they’re in matching jerseys for a ballgame and Steve has a friendly arm thrown around Sam’s shoulders, smiles bright and easy and Bucky can’t keep his own soft smile off his face. He hears the water turn off and moves on to final photo, one he hasn’t looked at for long before. 

It’s Steve but he looks much younger, boyish youth and mischief in his eyes that are shining brightly with his grin. Beside him, is a woman who is definitely one of the most conventionally attractive people Bucky has ever seen, but Steve looks like a fucking god so why shouldn’t his friends?

Except this woman looks different from the other friends. She’s standing right by Steve’s side, Steve’s arm wrapped around her in a way that seems closer than friends, closer than the photo of him with Sam. She looks happy too, chocolate brown eyes shining and pleased, red lips parted to show perfect, white teeth. 

Something lodges itself into Bucky’s stomach and he wants to put the photo down but he can’t stop staring at it, analyzing it, even when he hears Steve enter the room. “Hey, Buck, whatcha got?” he asks casually, walking behind Bucky and wrapping his arms around his torso. 

He feels Steve’s face buried in his shoulder as he presses kisses there, but instead of answering, he asks, “Who is this?” 

Steve props his chin on Bucky’s shoulder and looks, arms around him tightening until he glances at who is in the picture Bucky is holding. A little “oh” escapes him and Bucky didn’t know Steve could ever sound so small, and then the arms are retreating as Steve steps back. 

And oh shit, Bucky already knows that these two months have already been too good to be true, that something just  _ needed _ to happen that would tear this thing apart, but Bucky would have thought it would be him and his many issues rather than something like this. He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know who this woman is, if she’s an ex that Steve is still pining for, or worse, someone he’s still seeing… Bucky doesn’t think Steve would ever do such a thing, but his reaction does not inspire confidence. 

“That’s Peggy. She was my fiancé,” Steve says quietly, eyes downcast and Bucky can’t help but fixate on the one defining word. 

“Was?” he asks bluntly, and wishes he could take it back by the way Steve’s face darkens. 

“She died about six years ago. Car accident,” he finishes with a whisper. 

Bucky wants to reach out. Wants to hold Steve, to comfort, make it better but he has so many thoughts racing around his brain, he can barely articulate his condolences. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs and Steve gives a sad smile. 

“Thank you,” he says, giving Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze, the touch a warm and comforting weight. 

Bucky nods, unable to look Steve in the face because his blood is roaring in his ears with the simultaneous need to bury his face in Steve’s chest and back up several feet. He’s hurting because Steve, someone whom he cares about greatly, had to go through such a traumatic event, something completely out of his control that changed his life for good…

And the other, petulant part inside Bucky’s mind, the part he’s trying not to hear and focus on but that seems the loudest is screaming ‘ ** _fiancé_ ** ’ like a siren in his mind. Fiancé, meaning Steve was ready to get married. Meaning that he might want to get married now. He’s in his thirties and the biggest catch anyone’s seen, maybe he’s ready to settle down and get the house with the white picket fence and just hasn’t brought it up to Bucky with the fear of scaring him off. 

Too late for that now. Because Bucky isn’t ready for that, isn’t ready to think about much outside of what he’ll make for dinners that week, when he’ll hang out with Natasha and Clint, how many times in a day he’s planning for Steve to fuck him… He doesn’t want the married life in the suburbs yet, if at all. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly, not wanting to seem insensitive but this information has turned their whole relationship on its head, and Bucky needs this conversation. As soon as Steve can. 

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you or--” 

“How could you not tell me you were ready to get married years ago?” he asks, voice breaking at the end and he tries to swallow back the sudden rush of tears that seem to have sprung from nowhere. This is not the time, not when Steve is the one to have gone through something so horrific, not Bucky. 

“What?” Steve asks, blinking and clearly taken aback. “I didn’t realize it would affect you so much. I was going to tell you when I thought it was appropriate, why is this so important to you?” 

“What do you mean, ‘why is this important’? It means that I can’t or I’m not ready to give you what you  _ want _ in a relationship! You’re thirty-one and could get a wife or husband no problem, have kids…” he pauses to take a breath, panting shakily as he fights the sobs that threaten to escape. “And I’m not ready to give you that kind of future, and I don’t want to be in the way of you getting that… I--” 

He shakes his head and grabs his jacket, heading to the door. Steve is staring at him, unmoving with frozen shock, eyebrows creased in the center and the look almost makes him stop, makes him turn back, but he needs to do this. 

He’s angry that Steve kept this from him, that he doesn’t seem to realize why it’s a big deal, and even though he understands why he did it, Bucky needs some time to think things through, to reconsider what this is. But his heart is behind him, standing next to Steve who looks at him with that broken expression. 

Bucky turns back for that half a moment, seeing Steve’s face for perhaps the last time, but he wishes he hadn’t when Steve whispers, “Buck, wait,” voice cracking. Bucky takes off, jogging to the subway, knowing that Steve won’t follow him. 

… 

Let it be known that James Buchanan Barnes does not mope. He has a pout that is definitely adorable, if he does say so himself, and definitely isn’t afraid to express some of the more negative feelings, but he does not mope; he doesn’t pine away, waiting for his prince charming to come fix all of his problems and scare his fears away. 

So when Clint tells him to go outside and quit moping a week after he and Steve break up, Bucky glares whole heartedly and shakes his head. He’s ignored a total of six texts and three calls throughout the space of the week, instantly deleting the messages Steve has left and decisively ignoring the texts with ranging variations of “I’m sorry” and “Bucky, please just talk to me.” Still, he can’t bring himself to block the number. 

Besides, Steve’s most recent text reads, “Alright Buck, I’m gonna give you your space. But please, when you’re ready, let’s talk this out. I really don’t want to lose you” 

Bucky sighs deeply, not caring about Clint’s eyeroll that this is the sixth time this morning he’s made a noise like this. “Oh my God, Bucky, you need to take a shower and go outside. It’s been three days since you’ve left the apartment, I can’t look at your face anymore,” Clint says exasperatedly, banging pots as he attempts to make breakfast. “Food’ll be done when you get back… Love you too,” he adds when Bucky flips him off but stands to follow his direction. 

Can’t hurt to see the sun anyway. He sighs and stretches as he stands, tossing his phone on the couch to go take a shower. 

He decides to go to the park because he can go look at the ducks for a bit and then come back for breakfast and Clint won’t be able to give him shit. He’s seated on a bench, texting Natasha to rant about her boyfriend, when someone sits beside him. 

“So your phone  _ does _ work,” the man says, humor laced with melancholy in his voice. Bucky looks up and startles to see Steve sitting beside him, hair a mess and dark circles beneath his eyes. He looks like a wreck and about as good as Bucky feels and something about that sends a shard of ice deep within Bucky’s chest. “Bad joke, I’m sorry. I just want to talk,” he says, and Bucky notices that he’s giving him plenty of space, about as far away as the bench will alow without actually falling off. 

Bucky appreciates the distance because it helps keep his head clear, but it also feels empty and like it’s missing so much. Less than a week ago, there would be half that distance, most likely less, and now… 

“How did you find me?” he asks quietly. 

“Clint texted me from your phone,” Steve replies apologetically, giving a small sheepish smile. Bucky must look confused because he goes on to say, “He said you were feeling sad, that you wanted to talk and would probably be at the park…” 

Damn Clint for knowing him so well. But even more, damn Steve for knowing just what to say and for his gorgeous strong arms and that chest that was perfect for feeling safe… it isn’t fair. Bucky knows they need to talk, that these issues haven’t just vanished, but at this moment, Bucky wants nothing more than to throw himself into Steve’s arms and just pretend that all is right with the world, that he’s Steve’s and Steve is his. 

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t know what yet, but instead what comes out is a horrible sounding sob that escapes from deep within his chest, a sound he never would have imagined he could make. 

“Aw, Baby,” Steve murmurs and pulls Bucky into that massive chest, stroking his back through the broken sobs until that wretched noise stops, whispering sweet nothings and comfort until Bucky finally calms. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, wiping his eyes as Steve rocks him slowly. 

“No, no, Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve murmurs lowly, right next to his ear. “Baby, we need to talk about this,” he says softly, still speaking in soothing tones like Bucky might be set off if he speaks too loudly. 

But Bucky nods, head dipped so that he doesn’t have to meet Steve’s eyes, and slowly pushes himself off of Steve’s lap. “Let’s go to my place,” Bucky says quietly, walking in the direction of his apartment, knowing that Steve is close behind. 

When they get back, Clint is just leaving, backpack thrown over his shoulder. “Thought you guys would be back soon. I’m off to the library. Won’t be back for  _ several _ hours,” he says, eyebrow raised and a smirk forming on his lips and the unspoken ‘so you have plenty of time to fuck’ hangs heavy in the air. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and leads Steve into the living room, beckoning him to take a seat on the couch. “Want anything to drink?” he asks as he heads for the kitchen. 

“I’m alright, thanks,” Steve replies, staring at his hands. Bucky gets him a water anyway because it gives him a minute to think as well as something to do with his hands. When he returns with two glasses, Steve looks surprised but mumbles his gratitude. 

Bucky takes a seat across the couch, giving plenty of distance so as not to become distracted but not  _ so _ far that it appears that he is trying to distance himself from Steve as much as possible. 

“Listen, I know you think you know what I want and what I’m looking for, but can I please just say my piece and then you can argue?” Steve asks, brows raised pleadingly. 

Bucky nods and waves a hand, bidding him continue. 

“Okay, we talked about from the beginning that I don’t want more than you’re willing and/or ready to give. Yes, I am older. I’ve been through relationships before. And I can wait for as long as you need, Buck. I  _ want _ to wait even for just the chance that we end up together.”

Steve reaches across the couch and rests his hand on top of Bucky’s own, a warm comforting weight that helps to keep him grounded, even though his head is spinning that Steve is really  _ here _ , after what has felt like so long, he’s here in Bucky’s little apartment. Bucky fidgets, picking idly at a hangnail and refuses to meet Steve’s gaze for a moment. 

“But I don’t want to hold you back from settling down… from kids…” Bucky says softly, glancing up at Steve from his hands before immediately looking back down. 

“How old do you think I am?” Steve asks teasingly, a hand coming to cup Bucky’s face and bring his eyes up to meet Steve’s, and Bucky feels a flicker of a smile flit across his face for just a moment. “But seriously, I’m not in some rush to get married and… have the white picket fence. That was six  _ years  _ ago. Plans change, expectations, and dreams… if losing Peggy taught me anything, it’s that sometimes life flips on its and you can’t always stay standing for it. What I wanted then… isn’t the same as what I want now.”

Steve searches his eyes, and his own are so blue and so open that Bucky wouldn’t be able to look away even if he wanted to. 

“I want to be with you… how you are, how you want it. I just want to be with you how you’ll let me.  _ If _ you’ll let me,” he corrects, removing his hand from Bucky’s face and pursing his lips. It’s clear that he’s trying to give Bucky the opportunity to think, to make the decision, but Steve suddenly feels so far away. 

“I want it how we were. I want you to be my boyfriend and take care of me and to hang out in the evenings and, and get lunch and cuddle on the couch. I want--” he cuts himself off because as he says the words, the feeling that he hasn’t acknowledged, the feeling that he’s been avoiding for weeks now, is creeping in, and if he keeps talking, he’s going to blurt something he’ll regret. 

“I want that too,” Steve whispers, leaning in closer.

“Take me to bed, Daddy,” Bucky whispers, and the soft smile darkens into something wicked, sinful, pupils darkening until his eyes look almost black. 

“Anything you want, Baby,” Steve growls, seizing Bucky’s mouth in a kiss that’s full of invading tongue and nipping teeth, before lifting Bucky as though he weighs nothing and carrying him into the bedroom. 

… 

Bucky rolls off Steve, panting as he lies on his back as Steve takes care of the condom. Who knew two hours of make up sex would take this much out of him? 

After Steve has disposed of the condom and cleaned them both up, during which Bucky couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes, he had crashed next to Bucky’s side, wrapping himself around him like an octopus, and Bucky is certain he’s never felt safer in his entire life. Occasionally Steve with snuffle or hum in his sleep, sometimes tightening his arms and nuzzling into the back of Bucky’s neck and sighing; these are the moments Bucky likes best. 

He likes to imagine that Steve grows more comfortable, even asleep, even subconsciously, with Bucky there. He shifts backwards until he is entirely pressed against Steve’s broad chest, and Steve sighs heavily again, and Bucky doesn’t fighting off the grin. 

He can see, someday, falling asleep like this together every night. Not now, not today, but one day, and for now, that’s enough. 

_ Fin  _

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy let me know what y'all think, again, any criticism or mistakes are welcome, thanks so much!


End file.
